Knitting with maturity

Standing in the doorway.

A flaxen orphan threw me her golden smile.

Touched on receiving her exemplary expressions

With a coil of her tongue,every time she would look at me with those craving eyes,

My heart just skipped a beat.

A brown butterfly with wings bearing eyespots,

Fitted in perfect analogy with the ringlets of her tow-coloured hair

With every strand bunched up as a cork-screw shaped curl.

Beauty does not see age,though it comes with the signs of ageing,

Beauty does not have to be matured.

Yet,I see a manifestation of maturity

Gripped tightly by those insecure fingers.

She was knitting,intertwining a tawdry yarn in a series of connected loops.

Such was the skill she had acquired!

But, from whom?

Perhaps,she had a mother expert enough in this field.

I was taken aback by the firm maturity she had inherited,

After all,knitting was something which even I couldn't learn in these years,

In spite of,having a kind and generous mother 

Author's Note

thanks for reading pals
Picture by Meyer-von-Bremen

Reviews

[John Alexander McFadyen]

A very 'mature' write here FCB. It is beautifully descriptive and whimsical and yet has an echo of reminiscence. You form it in a traditional voice in keeping with the picture and image you present.
One small thing I would alter is to remove the apostrophe in the final line.

[fattycbreezy52]

Aha sure:) Thanks a lot John.I am glad!:)