I was invisible and she was seen
Snow sweetly sauntering through autumn leaves
Playing the voyeur seems somewhat obscene
As between dark trees she beautifully weaves
But with my paint and brush, I hunt a scene
An image and a feeling immortal
Of which she is the slim, ivory queen
Her leafy subjects guard a bright portal
Into a realm untouched by cruel time
Where all hearts love and all words sweetly rhyme
To let this moment fade would be a crime
I will depict her in her regal prime
The years will cause us to decay and fade
But she will be preserved in what I’ve made
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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The Harvest
Koyi wobbled to her shabby wood and straw kaz, holding her machete and an old burlap bag with some yams. Someone had laid another basket in front of the patched up door—rose apples today. They were a bright reddish pink, looking waxy and crisp, just the way she liked them. The culprit knew her very well. Those would be crunchy, juicy and sweet—she could tell—but she gathered all the will she could muster and pushed the basket aside to enter her home. She had already said no repeatedly and would not be taking bribes.
By Lily Séjor2 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
I suddenly feel a bit creeped out at the idea of being "depicted".
This was so breathtakingly beautiful! So well done!