The
Colors
Only
She
Sees
Are
Rendered
With
Ease,
To
Create
A
Vision
With
Casual
Precision,
Touching
Her
World
With
Gold,
As
Did
The
Masters
Of
Old,
To
Make
A
Life
Without
Strife
Or
Care,
And
Live
There.
Painter’s Art
The Colors Only She Sees Are Rendered With Ease, To Create A Vision With Casual Precision, Touching Her World With Gold, As Did The Masters Of Old, To Make A Life Without Strife Or Care, And Live There.
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Hear Ye.
Come, Lovers Of The Sun, Spring Has Full Begun, Dark Days To Shun. Treetops Fill With Birds, Singing Nature’s Words And There Is Sweet Relief From Winter’s Snowy Grief. Pretty Miss, Bless Me With A Kiss. Stalemate
He Had Something To Say, And Said It, But Soon Came To Regret It. She Had Something To Say But Hid It In A Box, Fitted With Double Locks. He Spoke And Made A Joke Of Their Fragile Arrangement, Leading To A Prolonged Estrangement. Now, They Do Not Meet, Not Even Passing On The Street. One Guilty Of A Cutting Word, One Filled With Dreams He Never Heard, Each In Their Disguise, Designed To Evade The Other’s Eyes. Springtime
April Is The Cruelest Month, They Say, But How About A Vote For May? April Is All Bluster And Storm, Plus A Reluctance To Get Warm, While May Is Beguiling Flowers And Bee Buzz Hours To Dance And Play, Then I am Cast Into June, To Labor Late And Soon. Oh, Month Of May, Come And Enchant Today, And Promise Never To Go Away. Allergic
I track The Pollen Count With Dread, Red Eyes And A Clogged Head. “Very High Today,” I hear The Weather Man Cheerfully Say, As I see My Neighbor’s Mulberry Tree Come Into Leaf, Bringing Nasal Grief. These Symptoms Are Spring’s Pesky Issue. Jeez, Hand Me A Tissue. |
AuthorJeanette Collins Archives
March 2024
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