Delighted, I return to the stained glass
studio in a dream. A Maltese Seraph
is nigh, pleased by crafted canvasses.
Peace plays in her illuminated laugh
for she is moved by both the fired art
and wholesome scenes piously framed
in elongated windows. Pure light darts
between beauty forged by artistic fame
and the burnished backs of horses pulling carts
on the village street. St Jacobs, a plain land
praising simplicity: a message of heart
heard in her voice, seen in the lay of hands.
But a wink teases as she lifts suncatchers,
seeing sweet figolli in each pastel patch.
*Figolli is a Maltese cookie decorated with bright icing and enjoyed at Easter.
Like two dimensional Easter Eggs ;)
This is to our friend, an angel of Soup, who is from Malta.
St Jacobs is a Mennonite Village. It is common to see people drive by in horse and buggy.
Old order Mennonites wear clothes of another century. The women wear prayer caps and
pinafores, calico dresses, no make up, no adornments. The men wear black suits,
black hats, solid shoes.
LOVE YA, CHARMAINE!
A BLOG WILL BE WRITTEN TONIGHT ,<3 I have much to say about my word choice on
this contemporary sonnet (meter-less and with no rigid syllable count).