Did you my dear, forget that morning bright? when crickets sang beyond the porch at dawn. where swayed the swathes of blossomed flowers, bathed in light.
You took your brush in hand then washed the canvas to shape that land in sight, and what a sight..an artists delight.
The beauty of your strokes born into the mind, a painting to tell a tale for the eyes to imagine a day in kind.
For all the many and all the few, a scene in time and like the grass that bared the morning dew.
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.