Ode to an Ash Blonde

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Memories of you as a life-starter
Lean weakly against the door
Of a mind only slightly ajar,
And cannot quite slip through.
A nostalgic inner chord is strummed
By a studied photo-page
And the opening swings wider.

Pouting and petulant,
Taking delicate bites
From a green apple;
Is it so sour?
The long sun rays
Burnish the gold of your fairness.
A father wonders, why?
Discomfited, finding no ready answer;
No sure key to your young sorrow.

Shadows of such pique
Fall rarely now
Over pert features,
More often aglow with animation
Than masked with cool containment.

Eclectic, with bounce and verve;
Gregarious; prone to gently tease,
Yet capable of a focus of concentration
That renders you motionless;
Rapt and riveted
By Cary Grant films
Triple your age.

Gifted with a spirit of important substance
And an intellect scarcely traced;
But sometimes your heart
And uncharted mind rebel.
Your inner-carpenter person
Buffs the lighter wood
Revealing a darker, pensive mood;
Your secret is safe;
We are not informed
Whether the sawdust particles
Fall as unseen tears,
Only subtly reflected.

The power of a strong and generous heart
Bursts restraints.
The restless soul stirs,
The flight resumes;
Throbbing wings of expectancy
Buoy you to unfamiliar perches
In your random searches
For fresh routes and blue skies.

But in the reposes of the nest
We count as treasure
The dancing excitement of your wide,
Darkly-lashed eyes, tinged with jade;
The flash and curve of ready smiles
And music of the deep-down chuckles;
The comfortable cushion
Of an affection with sturdy bonds.

The times and miles
May tear at the tapestry of togetherness
Woven through the years.
But they cannot erase
The graciousness of your images,
And your dear, sweet face.