Poem for Lady Chelsea Mae

Dec. 23, 2012

Poem for Lady Chelsea Mae

Let me take you to my friend's house,
     Lady Chelsea Mae.
The quaint home,
     Addressed four twenty on the avenue,
A pale thing with flavors of green
     And vanilla,
Broad porches,
     And the Lady smiles behind her hand crafted curtains.

The door whisks open
     And you are entranced,
Rippling patterns of carpets
     and corks,
          beads,
               jewels,
                    and sophistication.
The walls hold London,
     Paris,
I once went to Amsterdam
     when I got lost in her walls.
The foyer,
     the lounge,
          Her small but stately greenhouse!
Picture the boudoir
     of that queen,
          that princess you only know from your mind,
Swimming in the scents
     of Bedouin tribes,
          the Nile,
               and all the seas of the Romanovs.

The Lady bustles,
     ever busy,
          busy,
               busy,
Turning house to home,
     with tints of purple roses
          and electric stars.