Poor Mrs. Sincere Lee
Stares longingly at a frame
Gilded gold and empty
On her wall
Once a portrait of her younger face
If only her wane and fading
Mind beneath her thin crown
Of silver white
Could remember
Nimbly
If she could only
Brush stroke memory

Back to life
When thoughts have drowned
In misty loss
Her youth and summers
A distant shore
In a regretful ocean of
Salvatore Dali clocks
Her emotions turned against her
Enemies at the door

Draining the vivid Now
Most recollections are merely sewn
Waves of ups and downs
Cast away in an album of
Forlorn

She recalls her demure lil curtsy
She was loyal as a pet rock,
Still she stares at the blank canvas
Rather than the dawn on the dock
Frozen in the lack
Of having known nor found
Someone
More than this
Silent dame of down
With more to her than some
Husband's name
Mrs. Sincere Lee in her pink
Bath robe
Can only stare at the yellow frame

With a thinning crown
Of silver white
Of wish of need of crave
The days without an empty canvas
Or her sentence
of self blame
Time is leaving her
Frozen In such hollow
Shame.

Ennui.
The trenchant ocean
Burns with out a flame.