Clare
She moves more slowly
up the slope,
pushing against the hill’s
shallow grain.
I knew so well her
swaying grace,
but now she shuffles
with the drag-
foot limp of the aged,
and aged she has,
like a good wine in
an oaken cask.
Her beauty still stays
in my memory,
lodges in my mind and
I see her as
she was, beautiful
in body, slim,
graceful, a joy to hold
and behold.
Her eyes still sparkle
and she bubbles
still with a champagne
joy that draws
me to her, and still she
enhances each
room she enters, filling
it with light.
rogermoorepoet 
A beautiful poem! – Margaret
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Thank you, Margaret. I wrote it in the car at Mactaquac while Clare was walking towards me, up from the head pond.
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Love it.
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Thanks so much, Judy, and so glad to see you here.
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I think this is one of my favorites of yours! You and Clare…sigh! Have a beautiful day together!
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Thank you, Tanya. I haven’t shown it to Clare yet: she refuses to admit she is ageing! I wrote it in the park yesterday afternoon She went walking and I sat in the car and wrote that poem … another raw one.
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I think that is one of the keys to staying young…tell Clare I applaud!!!!
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Just back from the chiropractor and walking straight again! In the rain, I might add. It’s poring … and that river’s still high.
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