My Day, Tender
How lips become mute and silent
When dash of hues ignites ember,
My hands dip into oils, intent
Curves of boughs soothe my day, tender
Bright language of trees on wingers
Sending glazed flutters down the spine,
As lush tints drench inky fingers
And hours forget unbridled time
Contours become fuller, plumper
Through eyes’ palette wet with delight;
Paint gasps on canvas to wander
Along wisps of strokes and sunlight
Art’s grace leaves rabid thoughts behind
Waking still life that thrills my mind.
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