GWENDOLYN'S DAY ( A BUDDING VICTORIAN ROMANCE )

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JOURNAL # 41

a high strung lass
heaped in almost predatory class
meddlesome dove
that she was
or so her mother often sassed

a morning beauty ever was she
to be so besieged
from the sunlight's first spill upon
her lovely dark tendrils 
with admirers and on gazers
slit lidded and eying her so carefully 

the latest
a common early morning stroll
across a summer park promenade
with pantaloons swaying parasol dancing
where each elm would bow so gallantly as she
floated by on slipper bowed feet
listening to the song birds chatter excitedly over head
while happily humming to herself an old world tune
she'd learned just last night on her new piano forte'
in her father's den
shuttle cock and crochet games merrily go on
over the foot bridge by the pond
as boisterous youth and parents cheer
each the other on
a soft rolling lawn
teaming with scandalous merry makers

scenes of summer joyously unfolding
drift by her observant eyes
with the sound of laughter and the scent
of food
mingling among the lucky nostrils of passers by
flower picking, horse shoes and three legged races
fill up the morning clear into the afternoon

until a delicate young girl beneath her
Paris blue parasol lounging in a well
paddled canoe
takes notice of a young painter
busily working on the distant knoll
broadly stroking his canvas with a purposeful brush
before an eye squinting view 

eyes of unexpected delight collide with each their
newly noticed counterpart
mindful of the others possible presumption
love's earliest interest springs to bountiful life

whether that of artist and muse
purpose and pursuit
or mere casual coincidence
a moment is met
before strangers visually introduced
a future forgettable day just a moment
before
suddenly becomes memory set

this day offers love
if but the two introduced
care enough to unbolt such door

soft canopy of clouds
gradually brings
Paris blue parasol down

an innocence mixed with privilege
meets talent and raw gentleman's skill
today was a fairy tale
so until proper introductions are made
any happily ever after must wait.................
(Aug. 14, 2013 741pm)

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The title came to me first and then the poem just slowly crashed into being. The title was the key. In my mind's eye I had a vision of a lovely dark haired girl during the Victorian age walking in a park twirling a parasol and the rest sketched itself in fairly easily after that.

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