An Old Woman

A poem of the mystic of an old woman I met.

Beneath the shade of an old oak tree,
there sat an old woman
completely free,
humming and singing
an unfamiliar song,
with sounds so sweet
and words not long.
Her white sun-kissed hair
blowing like a running mare
on the tails of the wind,
and her tan leathery skin,
draped with a dress
vibrant in colors
and apparently unpressed.
A spell she cast on me
as I sat near,
how lovely, how serene,
with smells of sweet flowers
awakening in the spring.
A warmth filled my soul
as I closed my eyes,
how peaceful was the never-ending blue sky.
I could stay there for hours,
no time was addressed,
I had no where to be
and, I needed the rest.