Porch Museum

Here, in the happy place

I can finally put up my sore feet

And enjoy the sweet summer air-

Sipping the syrup straight from the source.

A gallery ever changing graces these walls,

Full framed canvas, floor to ceiling, showcase masterpiece.

Painted in vibrant blues, strokes so steady and even,

Punctuated with white of brushes whim.

A mosaic of greens laid in the most delicate hues,

Gradually, gracefully ranged from lime to forest.

Summer’s morn’ is no less beautiful than

The dramatic monochrome of winter’s night

The deep dark of the horizon, accompanied by the

Unknown it contains, adverse new snowfall’s glow,

The pure white ground and blanket of silence it brings,

most unimaginable in the chatter of July while in my ear

Birds sing, but some are talking;

Toads croak, while others ribbit;

And an occasional car passes through

constant chirp of the cricket.

 

 

So glad I am to have finally found this happy place,

To sit in the air and live

alongside the painter and her palette;

Bear witness to the great artist ghost of the land.

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