It Started With A Blank Canvas
My life began as one big blank canvas,
a sweet baby girl loved:
the second child for my parents,
yes, I had an older sister by one year;
Suzanne, already had signs of an adventurer,
while I just gurgled, smiled and made faces.
Babyhood is fleeting,
soon, I was a four year old and walking:
my personality was beginning to blossom,
quiet, shy, loving cats, the garden, and books,
my sister, had no time for all that;
we lost her on a snowy street,
her death left a black mark on the canvas of my life.
My grandma, Helena was our family storyteller,
looking at me she would say, she has an old soul:
grandma colored the canvas of my life with hues lovely,
opening my imagination and a writer was born;
I will never forget the words I spoke at her funeral.
When I write of nature the tone is green with wildflowers bright,
with strokes and swirls of birds soaring and water swirling:
when I write of winter, my very soul opens,
and in sad poems somber colors twirl and mingle;
and my paint drips blood red onto my canvas,
the love poems, I create are full of my love's aqua blue eyes.
I am a butterfly, I am a bird, I am a writer,
each day I add another color, another dimension;
to the canvas of my life that started when I was born,
no telling what the future holds but I know;
it will be beautiful.
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2024