Lightly dusted draperies
softest rose, antiqued to drowse
upon the dresser top,
a doily tatted by tired hands
and wrinkled fingers
lacy, 
with Victorian rose perfume
lingering still so many years later
that the touch of the cloth,
and the feel of the weave
the scent rising
even after the dust is stirred away
the memories come back
to haunt me
of the days when I wore rose colored glasses
and the world was tinged in pink