Monday, February 9, 2009

A Sonnet for The Three Graces


I hear the murder calling as I paint
They’re mocking me from high upon their perch
Accusing me of my misguided fate
They warn me, “Watch, you haven’t got the merch!”
I tell you now to flee from my great trees
To fly and find some other place to chat
But leave the goldfinch here for me to see
And learn to paint as delicate as that.
Ah now, I keep The Graces in my gaze
The fog beyond with subtleties of breath
On softly shifting colors do I graze
My brush in varied hues of shadowed depth.
With patience then The Graces do appear
Soft paint on paper, wetted with a tear.

To K. and Sarah, It's crow season! Thanks for the inspiration!

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