Who are you, who paints my garden, slipping into my yard under blue grey skies, your clothes matching the colours you create? My house was quiet, conforming. You have coloured my view, pinned yellow daisies and orange lilies next to dinnerplate dahlias, hiding the pale of my walls. If I could, I would cut down the colour, mute the bright. But you come on a sea of light, blind me with your pallet, fill my garden with life that glows, even as it dies. I hate what you make, as I stare from my window, mesmerized with the simple beauty.
Mary Anne mc Enery
25/2/2022 02:16:17 pm
some deep thoughts here...................I re read it and its beautiful
August
26/2/2022 01:54:58 am
Thank you!
Sue Clayton
26/2/2022 02:27:11 am
My eyes were also blinded by the colourful description of this beautiful garden.
August van Stralen
26/2/2022 07:14:27 pm
Thank you very much!
Pamela Kennedy
26/2/2022 04:43:08 pm
I agree ... I also feel there is a deep meaning to this story...beautifully written.
August van Stralen
26/2/2022 07:15:12 pm
thank you, that's so kind. Comments are closed.
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"Classic"
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