The Perfume Bottle
a Curtal Sonnet
Her Evening in Paris was dainty blue,
safe in a place forbidden to young ones
too new to understand passionate love
between a man and a woman that grew
and burst in a blaze that rivaled the sun's,
then putting to shame the stars up above.
The years passed by as they are wont to do,
but her scent lingers in the mourning dove,
and still warms the hearts of her stalwart sons
and of the grandchildren who barely knew
her blue scent of love.
|