The days of picnics are gone
Cold wintertime has returned
Swallows and finches now flown
Nails are hammered into coffins
Brittle ice, morning's greeting
As the wind sings a sad song
A good time for ancestors
To meet their relatives now gone
Next door scrawny kid cries out
Frozen hands can't open door
After running errand for Ma
While I watch from my studio
It is sketched on the canvas
That scene from my window
My cat looks out hopefully
Daubs of colour on cruel white
Paintings stacked against my walls
Much like an author's keen words
Gathering dust still unread
They call me the unbalanced one
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It is sketched on the canvas
ReplyDeleteThat scene from my window
An poetic mind will find an ordinary scene to be a great potential for a masterpiece on canvas.
Hank
I love this and feel this. I'm rooting for the boy to get the door open.
ReplyDeleteA lovely piece, a cold day...living...a beautiful observation.
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