Her joints are weary,
walking is a pain.

But beauty becomes her,
in the most unconventional way.

It oozes from her pores,
onto the pages where gentle hands lay.

Her beauty is a passion,
laid elegantly in each piece she creates.

Violet hues rustle in the warm summer zephyr,
drifting their sweet scents through the open window to me.
And upon my bed they'll lull me to sleep.
As a comfortable liquid it does seep,
washing my mind of all the stress it keeps.