Wait

Mehndi adorned her slim
fingers; chosen gems decked
her ivory charms.

She looked more like
a rose, in her bridal shawl
and fragrance.

Lips were parted
in expectancy, downcast
eyes followed

intricate embroideries.

The needlework entices
her even now. She traces out
an artwork of henna.

Locks have grayed
within folds of time. She trails
those motifs.