Mrs Jones

As I wistfully watch the young ones dance
from my quiet corner of valiance,
I close my eyes and remember when
people looked at me as they look at them.
Heads would turn as I crossed a room
when my pious beauty was in full bloom.
Men would fight for the right to sit by my side
and their deep desire would fill me with pride.
Without second thoughts I could take a heart
and people compared my face to a work of art.
The state of my hand said I was a lady
but now I am old and my beauty has faded.
My hands are gnarled and my hair has worn thin
and wrinkles infest my once smooth skin.
No one remembers my glory days,
they just see an old woman who's stuck in her ways
But they don't know my youth lives in my bones,
that forgotten life of Mrs Jones.

© Emily Sanctuary, 2007