Hair graying with age
as wise as a tree of sage
Skin as weathered as broken tree branches
not giving youth any chances

Hands still shuffling the yellowed cards,
left dormant on the tea table.
Trying to remember, though it was hard,
poker taught by the man from the stables.

The thought of him makes her mad,
angry and frightened, lonely and sad.
And yet her heart still beats strong,
forever in love, forever young,

In love with the slab of stone
in her backyard
In love with the one
who taught her to play cards