“A Century of Nature Stories”, left on a ledge

In a bare room.

Did perfume

Once linger here?

A spinster lived and died

In this place

We made our home

For a little while.

“A Century of Nature Stories”,

What did that mean to you?

An old tome

Left in your former home?

I recall horses on the wall

Of my bedroom.

I think you would have approved

But I will never know

For you died long ago.

I regret we never met.

The memory of that book has stuck with me

And I would like to ask you

What it meant to you.

You came from a different age.

I imagine you would have engaged

With books

And the garden with the Crab Apple Tree.

What would you have thought of this age

Obsessed with technology, where quiet

Is so often replaced by formless riot, of people

Who have lost

What they can not regain,

And I can not explain.

You where anchored in your home and time.

I have a rhyme

Of a lady I never knew

And thoughts of what may be true.

Or at least half true.