A Painted Woman In A Drizzle

Low limbs of the live oak twist like overlapping black rivers across the sky.It is easy to feel lost in the maze of their convoluted journey The World is Green Again -Marjory Wentworth Normally I do not go out with an umbrella And it's a drizzle late in the evening On my way back home from the library. She smiled and ready to share the umbrella The silence said in between us. O the fingernails sharp and beautiful And I was scared of her adhesive thick red lips If I attached how could I go back to my beloved? If not the umbrella her beauty washes That's certain and her magenta colour transparent skirt I saw the whole World of innocence! 'Rain seized and she said; Time has come to say Goodbye And thank you very much for the warmth Grandpa! ' I said; 'It's a pleasure daughter! ' She turned to the upper lane and I used my usual gravel road. In the darkness I whispered ' That name's already registered in the book of life forever Grandpa! '