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
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