Ode To Aunt Verna
Aunt Verna really loved my benign timbre, the way I cuddled words as they came out.
Treasure troves unlocked with mystic reverence, would add a little sunshine for awhile.
How cleverly I sculpted rustic idylls as I spoke,
the warmth with which I told of beech wood log fires,
old breakfast fare beloved by homely folk I’d neatly sketch,
those settings I portrayed with just a tone.
Horizons from afar and wondrous lands, journeys from the centre of the earth, rainbow clouds I planted in her heart were warmly welcomed.
That kindly face transformed itself when taking in my poems about the sea.
She loved when salted yarns infused an image, the frothy waves and reckless storms engulfing it.
Those oceanic eyes of my dear auntie, always revelled in the surge of every sonnet, as they surfed the silver tides with magic flair.
An epic verse would have this woman mesmerized,
some April breeze would prompt a tender smile,
a butterfly bewildered would do likewise.
Spring colours could be readily restored, each time I had the privilege or chance, of transporting someone precious to an earlier enchantment,
to that time perhaps when life had just begun
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