Shyla

The first drops on the soil
Inundates the air with
The earthy aroma
And her intoxicating beauty
As if she was young again
Fresh and green

Leaning on the terrace walls
Dripped in the first rain
I quietly watch over to my side
Where she is smiling at him
From the corner of her eyes
Reminding him of her charm
And he returns her a flying kiss
As the breeze touches her
She hides her face and moves away
But he holds on
To her hands
Still soft and shivering
Like their first meet
She taps him with poise
And he says in love,
"Shyla your hands look wrinkled.
Are you 16 or 60?"
She giggles like sixteen, replies,
"You forgot again ? I am 72, dear."

# Shyla, the ever young sweetheart 

© Copyright Salvwi Prasad (POETICbug)