A Fleur Being, Notes by a Painter
Blowing Flowers
solitude is a river of flowers. wet inside me. the dewdrops playing songs on them. each morning while I dress. their petals rub against each other. the music of solitude surrounds me. I am always thirsty for more. Copyright - Susy Kamber All rights reserved
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Together
There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro' the moss the ivies creep, And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep." BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON
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A Fleur Being, Notes by a Painter
the wind brought paint. the sky her water. a paintbrush on hand. the flowers from under, all the trees in full delight. rustling their leaves. in movements so bright. then forward she ventures. along with her muse. her footsteps are patterns. of which she does choose. to dance this young painter. in water awash. she becomes a fleur being. a flower to touch. her muse is in wonder. from this moment he sees. a beautiful flowering portrait to seize. ahhh, is his voice and soft in his manner. her paintbrush now his, they dance with together. under mounds of deep leaves. the light awaits time. the leaves as a blanket. and sunshine as rhyme. Copyright S. Kamber
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