An Eternal Question (The Eight Ages Of Woman) Poem by Thomas Vaughan Jones

With childish laugh and dainty little hand
She builds a thousand castles in the sand.
Though errant tides would wash them all away,
She can return to build another day.

Why should she weep?

When female guile and coquetry awake;
A thousand hearts are hers, for her to break.
With one flirtatious nod of curly head
She can transfix the youth that she would wed.

Perhaps she feels the surging of his heart,
The agony of hours spent apart;
Can she not sense the power of her charms
Calling him home to hold her in his arms.

Does she believe he has the urge to roam,
Bored with the bland emotions found at home.
Is there another voice she comes to dread
Is she secure within her marriage bed.

Is she afraid to turn another page,
Stepping so softly into middle age.
Though youthful passion crumbles into dust
Richer by far are loyalty and trust.

Is it the pain within her feeble frame,
Or knowing life can never be the same;
Though his old heart has ceased, despite her cries,
Does she not know that true love never dies?

This lady, lover, mistress, mother, wife
This woman he has loved for all his life
Does she believe he’d leave her on her own,
Facing a silent future all alone.

Though he no longer holds his time and place,
And cannot wipe the tears from that sweet face.
He still stands guard, and patiently he’ll wait,
To lead her by the hand through Heaven’s Gate.

Why should she weep?