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by Douglas Young

Who were you, Delphia,
And what all did you do?
Your tombstone just says you were someone’s wife,
But I’m sure there was so much more to you.

With a name as enchanting as yours,
I bet you were a real beauty, too;
I’d love to say, “I’m with Delphia.
How do you do?”

I hope folks called you by your full name
And not just Del;
That would have been such a linguistic shame
When your whole name sings like a ringing bell.

Delphia sounds so sweet, Greek, sexy, and swell,
Worthy of a lady dressed ever so well —
“Oh, look, here comes that cute Miss Delphia;
She’s as lovely as an azalea!”

Was your marriage happy?
Your headstone doesn’t say —
At least it’s not heart-shaped and sappy
As so very many are today.

Were many children born unto you?
And were they obedient and true?
Since you lived to be a full 85,
Hopefully you enjoyed grandchildren, too.

I want to think you were content
Or you couldn’t have lived so long;
Far better a life of merriment
Than just a sad and very long song.

But if your life was tragic —
A misspent, wasted pageant —
You’re now at rest forever more
With an awesome view to adore.

For just how many folks can get planted
On the side of a mountain enchanted
By a blue sky above and a green valley below
With breezy, mild summers and winters sheltered in snow?

And, while I’d love to know more,
You will remain a closed door,
An enticing name high on a hill,
Ensconced in beauty where all stands still.

Copyright © 2017 by Douglas Young

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