

Another Portrait Of The Countess
She eyes the world
Well knowing her position,
Waiting, it would seem,
For age to dare to touch
And leave some telltale
Marking somewhere on that face,
But forever youthful, tranquil, yes, mature,
--mature, her friends would say--
She poses looking out upon
The broad estate of her apartment.
Beneath her gaze, resplendent silks
And velvet sheens reflect her luminosity.
She likes what she observes there,
Van Dongen's oil-on-paper sketch of her,
Matisse, Rouault, Bonnard, and
Orientals door to door.
Her enigmatic smile reveals
No hint of those passions
People say that once she felt,
And, some assert, indulged in
Shamelessly.
She sits there, jeweled hand on hip,
In sphinx-like sovereignty
Above the crowded drawing room,
Almost the double of her bustling self,
Instructing maids and butler how
To hustle their champagne.
And ruffling up her copper locks
Of slightly thinning hair,
This is coctails a New York.
In Paris and in Rome
Still other portraits cast their spell.

It was truly an honor to be in the presence of this great soul, wise and witty, I look forward to additional antecdotes.