Boreas by John William Waterhouse 1902 Oil on Canvas
It’s not that I am languid, more that I am chagrined.
So disappointed to be met by this dreadful north wind.
I am on my way to see him, and I will look so disheveled.
I am convinced the god Boreas is inclined to be bedeviled.
They say I have a porcelain face and that I never smile.
This is not my usual demeanor my intention is to beguile.
My soft chiffon garment intended to drape my delicate form.
Is now windswept without hope of keeping me warm.
I hold my scarf, my slender fingers holding it in place.
The daffodil I wear remains to draw attention to my face.
My ruby red lips catch the light as they shine like wine.
Hoping my raven hair will still shimmer and appear divine.
Blurred from the gusty wind are my lovely blue eyes.
They say I have undeniable beauty, now I feel otherwise.
My slate-colored scarf billows to resemble a conch shell.
The blackbird fighting against the wind isn’t doing well.
Soon I will be with my dear one in the safety of indoors.
My resistance to this harsh north wind, all for a good cause.
The movement depicted not allowing treachery to advance.
Shows strong resistance between nature and romance.
Copyright © Speaks Volumes | Year Posted 2024
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