Prisma’s Gallery

sanssoucie.comAs though through a window
In her mind’s eye
She gazed afar into
A room of mottled colors
A porthole on a world
Where once with starlings
Caught up in murmurations
Singing as a lark in the elm
In the backyard of her childhood
Where her father had perched
For her, a platform in the branches
She stood again smiling ear-to-ear
Leaves parted to frame galaxies
Stars of night and clouds above
And endless virtual violet blue
Where sparrows brown chipped
And yellow warblers chirped
Snipping strands of her gold hair
Weaving it into twigged nests
Amongst speckled gems of eggs
As years flew and the songs faded
And she found herself enclosed
Behind dove-grey walls at the gallery
Frames hung here, there, everywhere
Soaked in balsa and pine scents
Oils, glues, waxes, verbena
Some days she walked out
In the back of her mind
And found herself again
On crystal boughs of winter
On bending boughs of spring©2012 S. Michaels
Blank Canvas
Seven Love Stories – Prisma & Thomas

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