The Still Hours

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Purple plums were on the table, With darkest grapes colored sable, A vase of roses near the door, Wafting fragrancy like before. The dawn sun glowed at the windows, A dreaming world on soft pillows, The premature clock chimed the hour, Like fondest hopes before they sour! The cozy room with loads of books, Wears dawn colors when no one looks. Artists call such scenes a still life, In like fine moments the world's rife.

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Gershon Wolf

Date: 9/10/2020 2:09:00 PM

The still of pre-dawn is a precious time --- before all hell breaks loose. Nicely done, Evelyn. :) gw

Evelyn Judy Buehler
Date: 9/10/2020 3:02:00 PM

Which is precisely why I often sleep late. :0 Thank you, Gershon.

Jennifer Proxenos

Date: 9/10/2020 10:09:00 AM

Hi Evelyn Loved your poem - great imagery and very creative. Hugs and blessings, Jennifer.

Evelyn Judy Buehler
Date: 9/10/2020 1:13:00 PM

Hi Jennifer. Thank you for the sunshine and smiles. Best of wishes. xx

Sally Eslinger

Date: 9/9/2020 9:50:00 PM

Wonderfully sensual, like your poem,”The Terrace” that I couldn’t find the comment box. But I think you must be an artist as well as a poet! You don’t just say blue or purple, you define the hues and tones. So adding to the atmosphere of your poems! You note fragrances and the touch of things, and imply light and sound beyond the windows. It takes me journeying to moods and places I may only experience in poetry. Thank you!

Evelyn Judy Buehler
Date: 9/10/2020 9:10:00 AM

Reading your wonderful comment gladdens my heart, Sally. I am so pleased that you enjoyed the atmosphere and sensory experience. Thank you so much for taking the time to tell me so. It means so much. Have a lovely day, my friend. xx