A mature woman—

Ah, there’s the thing.

She stands out against

those immature little young things,

with their hot little bottoms,

ever liable to new distractions

such as young mens’ come-hither glances.

 

She knows

when the tea is just right,

she knows

when the cake dough no longer

adheres to the toothpick,

she knows

how to make perfect sweet potato pancakes—

and they don’t.

 

As alert as a lighthouse,

she knows what her old man needs

before he even thinks to mention it,

and, in her offhanded quiet way,

ensures that he has it,

whilst those young things are still

sorting out wife rights from husband rights,

never firmly sure of anything—because

they haven’t lived long enough.

 

Thank you, God,

for my mature woman.

In gratitude unbounded,

I love her with all

the life that’s left in me.

 

#

 

January 2023