This poem here was written by me - Nadya aka Angel Mercury - as an assignment for Grade 11 English class. We were studying "The Canterbury Tales" - a big book of poems by old English poet Geoffrey Chaucer. In it, a large group of people of all ages and walks of life is going to Canterbury Cathedral for a pilgrimage. On the way, they tell interesting stories. Now, there is a prologue, in which Chaucer describes all his story-telling characters in great detail, in the form of iambic pentameter poetry (10 syllables per line, basically. 5 stressed, 5 not).

The assignment that we English class students had to do was: we had to write a character introduction from scratch, in iambic pentameter form. This poem was meant to be modern-day, so the character is going on a pilgrimage to the cultural center of the world - Paris, France. This poem was supposed to be set in an airport, and we had to describe our characters as if they were waiting for their plane to France.

I chose to write this poem about my Grandmother.

Among the group an old musician was -

She had no instrument with her because

Sadly, she broke her arm and couldn't play

Her violin - her friend of younger days.

However, she did not lose dignity,

And, though a widow, heeded no pity -

So for her arm got medical treatment

And, being brave, she sold her instrument.

So, with the money from the violin

She travelled to such places as Berlin;

And Egypt, England, Spain and Greece and Rome

Could be so proud to call themselves her 'home-

Away-from-home'. This lady had a great

Love for beauty, though rather old and grey,

Her energetic eyes glowed with newfound

Love when she heard classical music's sound,

Observing with a supercilious eye

Those who thought music was not worth their while.

She knew a lot, read books, knew myths and more,

Languages too. She never was a bore.

The brave old woman held her head up high,

She, for her long grey hair, got brown hair dye;

Wore many necklaces and jewelry

To give herself an air of mystery

And draw attention from her aging hands

And face - not giving in to the demands

Her age of five and seventy commands.

Her dress was always neat, ironed and in style,

She liked perfume. And if she had a mile

To walk, for which there was necessity,

She did so - tired, but with dignity

She toured the streets, museums and the parks

Of famous cities. Now the 'Triumph Arc'

Of Paris old she longed so much to see,

The Eiffel Tower too, and all beauty

Of the land where speaking is "en francais",

Of which she knew enough. "Oh, bonjour," she says

To an old gentleman she saw - a friend

From her old orchestra. So she did send

Him a recognizing, smiling glance -

She never thought she'd have another chance

To see her friend; and with a knowing voice

She mentioned Mozart (despite all the noise

Of the airport, she had much patience.)

So let us leave them to their conversation.

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