An older woman is like
a big ancient mansion, 
a wary ghost watching
out a window. And high,
the iron fencing hides 
the garden from curious
strangers who dare to
climb it.  An older woman,
the retired beauty of
a dry red rose pressed 
carefully in a book,
a star that manages to pierce
the blackening distance
over the mansion's roof,
blinks, then fades away.
 
 
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