Stories of Old

Just a little ditty...that looks like it's turning into a work in progress.....

At the mirror
   she would sit,
      her alabaster skin
         frail within her nightgown.

She told me stories
   of an ancient history
      her soft, angelic voice
         soothing as she spoke.

One hundred strokes
   to keep the shine,
      her tresses powder gray.
         I listened as she brushed.

Here in her room,
   a hint of 4711
      still teasing the air --
         the smell that was her.

And in a hand less weathered,
   I hold the brush
      and recount the stories
         that keep her close.
        
  



        

Author's Note

I don't know if I did this justice. You can decide.

Reviews

[Miss Coral]

The last two stanzas had somewhat uneven rhythms, but your words themselves were beautiful- I loved the imagery and soft atmosphere... very well done. Excellent job. :)

-Coral-