Isobel

Isobel

Walking by the water's edge where melancholy leads.
Searching the glassy surface and branches of relecting trees.
Sweeping back a whisp of silver hair, with wrinkled hand she pauses there.
Slowly falling to her knees, her focus there among the trees.
Glancing down she dips her hand, erasing her reflection.
Stirring mem'ries of a maid with raven hair and fair complexion.
Humming soft she tilts her head remembering days when fancy led,
and young men gathered 'round her chair, while music filled the evening air.
Lifts wrinkled hand and fans her face; coquette smile behind the lace.
Rustling silk, she takes his hand;he leads her closer to the band
And arm in arm with eyes held fast she dances with her love at last
Oblivious by true love's trance to all the other patrons there
Lips touch his cheek, he strokes her hair
Soft he whispers in her ear, Isobel, my love my dear
Approaching footsteps in the leaves return her glance to distant trees.
Steps draw nearer, hand extends ;with youthful grace he bows and bends
and gently helps her to her feet;pulling her close when their eyes meet.
Brushing a whisp of raven hair, resting on her face so fair.
He takes her hand and draws her near,whispering softly in her ear
Isobel, my love my own I've waited long to take you home
She rests her head on shoulder strong,I'm here my love, where I belong.
As music fills the chilled night air, he draws her close, and strokes her hair.
Again they dance, but do not wake,
Isobel beside the lake