B: Iii: Old Lady Of The Camellias Poem by Douglas Scotney
B: Iii: Old Lady Of The Camellias
Often met first with eyes
Dark mysterious crevice
Entices nostrils in.
Fingers, tongues, they follow.
Tales unfold
That were untold.
Disgust, it soon takes hold.
One, too staunch for hate,
Tale-tired for toil,
Tells with flower-matching ribbon
What she's made of love and Fate.
Friday, August 17, 2012
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
Old lady at the camellia show with hatband matching the colour of that flower.
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
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4/18/2024 10:50:36 AM # 1.0.0.1119
There is an intensity and honesty here that is intergenerational but belies our revultion and ultimate acceptance that generational experiences are common throughout the ages and truly new experiences to humanity and the range of emotions is rare.