Morning Fell Upon Hannah’s Brush
Morning fell upon Hannah’s feet.
She ran out into sunlight fast
as her legs would take her, to greet
a palette of colors to brush.
She crawled upon our picnic bench
where random rocks lie in wait, since
collected. Her fingers to fetch
a palette of colors to brush.
I sat quietly by her side
as she took the red for a ride
along each stone her brushstroke sighed
a palette of colors to brush.
When she noticed me in my book,
her dress stained blue, to take a look,
a collection of words much like
a palette of colors to brush.
I lifted my gaze to broaden
sight, my Collection of Auden,
page by page, to expose the sun
as palette of colors to brush.
She returned my smile and centered
attention on his well versed words,
shared her paints on poems well bound,
a palette of colors to brush.
A spectrum of bright, dull, and shade,
every stanza a canvas laid,
Oh, my girl, your paints were well placed,
a palette of colors to brush.
Days have past as time always does,
your paints have all dried, colored dust,
Auden’s been left alone to rust,
palette of color already brushed.
- On One Terrible Night: The Family Well - November 8, 2024
- A Peaceful Place to Slumber - November 8, 2024
- Soft Shock of Apples Falling - April 22, 2024
