Encased in charcoal black mascara
her lake-blue eyes reflect deep shadows
A string of precious opals
adorns her slender neck

Her starlit entrance drives the evening’s fanfare
Her auburn tresses freely flowing
Imagination’s fountain, always beautiful
A visitation to her home in Old Quebec

The greatest hostess in the world
She smiles and chats, a human cocktail
Makes endless toasts to all her guests
with Ecuador Rose, Pompeian red champagne

The party fades to silent swirls
Her oval mirror tells the egress tale;
A life of endless duty, her failure cannot be expressed
To stay is guilty pleasure, to leave is inhumane

Her self-indulgence is an empty page
Like her golden vase deprived of blooming flowers
She ends her task; agonizingly aggressive
she swallows bitter pills, her tragedy in tune

with the window’s chilly curtains, a gauzy act onstage
Crisp autumn leaves now occupy her once grand place of power
Rustling guardians of nocturnal melodies
Night-scene dreams abandoned to a nonchalant harvest moon