Painted Winter
She asked me for the poppies
painted twenty years ago
half still fresh and vibrant
half, decrepit, old
She asked me for a moon beam
a song for her to ride
something that would calm her
that her soul would recognize
She asked me to be solid
to be sound and to be true
wishing that our lives would twine
and I would mirror you
She asked me to come visit
to elaborate and stay
but she knows that I must leave her
on this painted winter day.
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