this day my time
By benafim
This Day…My Time Today clouds hang low and the landscape mourns while I paint a transparent rose in a vase, on a canvas made of misty window glass. In the olive grove, fog hides trees and a lamb sadly bleats it has, for a moment, lost its mother and the world is now a fearful place. The rose cries and droplets of tears streaks the window pane, soon it will be gone, the vase too and I’ll have to paint me another dream. Written January 7th, 2002 © on Jan 06 2002 10:27 PM PST 0 • 8
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"This Day…My Time ..."