The old lady and her Sun

On her face many a wrinkle and crease
She sat splurging on her memories
Of Joy, her son
While the sullen sun skulked  behind a cover 
Of  clouds, dark . 
Ah those leisurely jaunts
Those happy taunts 
When the air was crisp
And like her toddler , did happily lisp
 laughter  and  promise. 
Ah it was bliss
When she held his tiny hand
At the school bus stand 
Alas, now he was in a foreign land.
  
In her chair she sat , on her face a sad frown 
Bending  down  
To  pick up the shards of her dream.
A rose dismantled 
Shattered and shredded .
To her memories she sat shackled
On the lawn dew -feckled.
Wistfully recalling the four   year old
 His hair in golden ringlets cascading  over his  shoulders
Panicky that he would trip over the  boulders.
The waves surfed in style
 Trying to beguile
 A fond mother's heart 
Whose four year old
With his crowning glory of gold  
Was wearing a stunning red dress.

With a  shuddering sigh, she recalled  that  goodbye. 
Was it the power of a mother's sigh
That joy seemed to be nigh
 That the  sun appeared in   a stunning red dress
 The shards of  dreary  clouds out to impress ? 
In a burst of generosity 
It lent them some silver linings 
And bursting with compassion
On her  creased forehead it planted a kiss
Filling her with some  bliss .
 Ah,  for the  woman old,  this was gold . 
The sun had returned 
But in her fond heart the fire still burned. 
And burned.