"A Scottish Lady" by Rusty Algren

A Scottish Lady

Ages past, I met this lass, in a town called Mildenhall.

Scottish bred, and born was she, slim of limb and tall.

Angelic smile, soft rosy cheeks, kind heart but never coy,

Married long, quite happily, whose children brought her joy.

Some evenings, we strolled arm in arm, along the village walk.

Telling tales, of ages past, I loved to hear her talk.

Her voice, a smile at things I said, brightened many days,

Her dog, so quick to wander off, as we walked along the ways.

Much older, was she than I back then, yet I was truly caught.

So giddy, like a teenage girl, her age was not a thought.

Red hair, and sparkling eyes of blue, an impish streak as well,

Yet gentle, soft and full of love, no touch of Satan's hell.

Long miles, and years gone slowly by, cause memories to fade,

Yet still, somewhere down deep inside, the best ones are remade.

With time, the seasons come and go, and people drift apart,

But still, some things will never die, if kept close to your heart.

Where now, what flowered sunlit path, feels the shadow of your grace?

God's heaven, angel's on your arm, or Mother Earth's sweet face?

Eighty-two, when first we met, so long and far away,

But Joan, my love remains the same, as then and to this day.

Rusty Algren

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