I like old ladies hour..
they put the world right,
in front of a cup of tea,
and some pastries..
outside,weather is fine,
in their heart,
always some drops..
they talk over absents,
and eternal return..
they smell hospital,
and wilthered flowers..
I like old ladies hour,
they chat so gently..
their lips,
tell book of history,
and morals..
growing like plants,
are grand children,
and medic's always more expensive,
my dear..
they have green and blues umbrellas,
old ladies..
grey and blacks dresses,
memory a life..
mauve scarfs,
speaking of the one,
already gone..
old ladies,laugh,
with a broken glass little sound..
old ladies finish their tea,
setting off again,
like kind godmothers..
perched on the evoked old dreams broom,
they fly away,
to their castles of loneliness..