The Impressionist, Monet's Garden

The Impressionist Monet’s Garden Images are caught, then lost again, Floating somewhere in half sleep, Dreamlike reflections sweeping in, Swirling gossamer memories to keep. Colors blended with his heavy hand, Ablaze together in some distant haze, Where all garden, sky, earth and light, Spiral together in long summer days. Pastel bursts, rising from a thick mist, Burning magnificent in a yellow sun. Cross over his mystic arching bridge, Into a garden, where all becomes one. Behold his stars, strung across night, Glowing as lanterns, with rings of light, And rounded circles of his living moon, With strokes of dark and dollops of white. Between what is real, and what can never be, His canvas is a mirror, of what we cannot see, An artist’s long life, lived in graceful majesty, Where his dreams and soul, found one beauty.