Three Graces hold an Autumn Ball
Oil on Canvas
Wear your finest gold
Winter is tomorrow's game
Today, we shall dance!
If we could have a moment spent alone
Where I could whisper soft into your ear
Of forces that it seems we both have known
And yet can never speak of these, for fear
That speaking thus will cause the river’s edge
To overflow with secrets best submerged
The voicing of such thoughts would cause a wedge
A confluence of unity diverged
The loves we’ve wed would shatter with my voice
As if my whisper were to be a shout
And they would be the victims of our choice
The pain of this we can not bring about.
Oh waters, wash me clean of this despair
Let me not, of you, presume to care.