Thursday, September 24, 2020

Little Women of Yesteryear

(my personal favorite version of Little Women is the one made in 1949)

Time always feels much older after dark 
After we pass the mark of middle age 
(though secretly we still feel like Jo March 
Behind the veil that falls o’er twilight’s stage) 
To hide the tears that love and longing spark 
Because some things no elements can cage 
Though we no longer hunger to embark 
On voyages that could turn back the page 

Still, we might dare to share half-openly 
Impressions outlined like shadows of ink 
Not brave enough to bare for all to see 
The letting go of places that we think 
Where what remains of what will be, will be 
In spite of what time seals in gold and pink 
Like envelopes containing poetry 
Collected in a vault beyond dusk’s brink 

…where Time always feels older when the cloth 
Of dusk is drawn across earth’s windowpane 
And all is dark save far-off silver froth 
Of stars to make us feel half-young again 
Where let’s admit it, you and I are both 
Jo March inside, unwilling to abstain 
From agonies half-pleasing and half-wroth 
And far too complicated to explain 

Maybe there is a lane where Laurie waits 
But we are far too old to go and see 
Lest while we roam the dark of night abates 
So we submit to sensibility 
And walk sedately with our wedded mates 
Acting ever so very properly 
No swinging or leaping o’er garden gates 
As we put on the person of Marmee

© Janet Martin 

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