The Lady with the Basket Hat.

Council walls were wallpaper torn,

Second-hand shelves, with fifth-hand tat.

But a tapestry hung at the top of the stairs,

The lady with the basket hat.

I drank in her reddish-brown skin,

Felt the warmth of the setting sun,

The burnt-orange kanga wrapping,

Enraptured, my mind came undone.

Too young for it to be mere lust,

I was drawn to picturesque form.

Her palette of autumnal hues,

In council cold, she kept me warm.

Details, art, to draw you away,

Dead-leaf-yellows, sun-kissed grape-red,

Her expression, like mine, was sad.

Pain, soul, and basket on her head.