Monet

Dark moods in which I brood ride the leaves of poetry books marking the seasons of my life Springs words, still fresh to the world capture wondrous blooms awakening boundless soul with wings unfurled Summers fire, filled with hearts desire loves caress given freely without cost travel from where I am to were you are Autumn's palette, painting visions of Monet soft natures breath whispers life to me by quiet brooks with pen in hand Winter's crystals fall, and through it all poems on leaves pressed lovingly between the pages of my life Stoic