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How a Maiden May Spendeth Her Day...
                                                            . . . . . by Carol Abbottİ September, 2003

"Doth He love me?

Who can say?"

Lovely, Modest Lady, while thy day away.

Count the petals.

Let them fall.

Thinking of Him, as she pauses near the garden wall.

Sky so blue, full of clouds, brilliant white.

Burgeoning trees overhead to cast deep shade.

She waits in peace for the twilight of day.

"Does He Love me?

Does He Not?

I shall let him declare."

Time should tell, Ere He pledge his Troth

to yon patient maiden.

She waiteth in Garden, glowing face so fair.

And 'though she may seem without a care...

A flutter of dove wings mirrors what's in her heart.

''Tis her life, after all, that is about to start

On a path so new, with a man she doth admire.

Pray for her to answer her true heart's desire.

How she chooses, could most certainly alter her life

Mayhap changing this maiden to a most matronly wife.

Giving her a household to run and the blessings of babes.

Less time for daisies or quiet contemplation.

But hopefully, traded for laughter and joys

and having a hand

to reach for and hold onto when loneliness threatens.





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