Poem: Sixty Years

She looks in the mirror
blinks
and she is an old woman
when did that happen?
She does not remember.

Her thoughts drift back
to his smile
a bouquet of roses
that are now wilted
the petals scattered.

Drink coffee
stare out into the rain
in the fog
she hears the echoes
of children playing.

Snatches of music
a waltz long forgotten
but she hums the tune
traces the steps
on the wooden floor.

She cherishes the good times
gives no thought to the mistakes
a young ingenue again
the belle of the ball
an opera in her mind.