We all can see
the clear appeal
of the tender ingenue. . .

But as she develops,
and evolves,
according to her nature
and the path
in the Universe
that, to her,
most deeply calls,
and true,

she reduces
time she spends
at her wit’s end,
or wildly bouncing
off the walls. . .

her softness
moulds into a firmer character,

her practiced sense
then slowly hones
her mind and body form
to grow her patience
and her merit there,
solutions to her problems
out to ferret where
they lie,

and wider vistas
come in view,
so less escapes
the notice
of her broader-seeing eye.

As years roll on,
with all her joyful gain
and tearful mourn,
she tends to be
in wit and form
a little bit
more dry,

But her experience
and judgment
get more oiled
and ease a bit,
and thereby grow
with subtle grace
a little closer
to the sky,

so they help her weather
petty peeves,
which, in her larger scope
of things,
dim, in her focus,
to quite faint,

Her eyes light quick
on the deep essentials,
so much so,
some deem her
truly magical,

since she’s tossed
that younger,
hokey hocus-pocus,

and has become
the wise old one
to show
just what the value
of endurance, love, and faith
and hope is.

This entry was posted in Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry, Women and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to THE WISE, OLD INGENUE

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