The body of [the mistress],

Poetess:

Like a quiet corner’s chair,

Unassuming to society’s stare,

Was the silent daughter of blackest night

Created from the promise of tomorrow’s light.

A gentle soul with a fiery tongue

Thoughts of old from a mouth young

Spoke the poetess each passing day

With her blacks and whites, a fading grey.

Seeking the truth in each situation

And each morning making her declaration

As the world was seen through her eyes,

Said she, “Here, lies.”

09/30/2001

Posted on 09/30/2001
Copyright © 2025 Betania Tesch