Afternoon Tea

They sit there in a quite torment
sipping spiced tea and passing scones
four wrinkled women who never triumphed,
four young ladies, left alone-
-around an old oak table hard
as rock but pressed for time.
Where death did take it's victory and
warm bright dreams have died
they colored the book in all black crayon
and scribbled out the lines- where
green grass whispered to soft blue skies-
not alone; never alone
four sets of tired pale grey eyes lost
their luster in cradled thoughts
crafting soft kisses from lovers past to wrinkled
old men that dirt does silence.              They
create the cross we all did die on- nails his
hands in torment there
sit and stare; watch and stare.
four young ladies sit in prospect
starched in pinks and ironed whites
suffocate their red desires
four old women's dying plight              They
drenched their sins in cheap perfume.