Along the River
Auburn-brown locks cascaded in the breeze;
the valley’s goodbye kiss.
She knelt at the waters, gazing at the fish,
heedless, drifting on in bliss.
Heaving her tired bucket, she took her fill
and tottered to her feet to leave.
But she lingered, captured by soft optics
rippling in the current, ‘til they stilled and grieved...
The basement was damp, dingy, and dark,
with each step creaking eerily underfoot.
Before her was her canvas, the floor on which to scrub,
but instead, she turned to two sheets thick with soot.
Her bucket fell, spilling through the floorboards,
as she unveiled an old mirror and some paints.
A new canvas had been bestowed upon her,
and she seized her brush with no complaints.
Each day she squeaked down those damp wooden steps,
and swept her brush on the fragile glass.
Each day her brief tremors would leave a smudge,
which she’d plaster over with colour in mass.
One morn, she yanked the cloth from the mirror,
and dropped the empty bucket at her feet.
Staring at her were those soft eyes, unmoving;
reaching out, she stepped upon the fallen sheet.
At such delicate touch, the glass surface shattered,
and the girl wailed, falling as if to faint.
Glass shards pierced the skin, thick blood stained a snowy dress,
as it was never her canvas to paint.
the valley’s goodbye kiss.
She knelt at the waters, gazing at the fish,
heedless, drifting on in bliss.
and tottered to her feet to leave.
But she lingered, captured by soft optics
rippling in the current, ‘til they stilled and grieved...
The basement was damp, dingy, and dark,
with each step creaking eerily underfoot.
Before her was her canvas, the floor on which to scrub,
but instead, she turned to two sheets thick with soot.
as she unveiled an old mirror and some paints.
A new canvas had been bestowed upon her,
and she seized her brush with no complaints.
and swept her brush on the fragile glass.
Each day her brief tremors would leave a smudge,
which she’d plaster over with colour in mass.
and dropped the empty bucket at her feet.
Staring at her were those soft eyes, unmoving;
reaching out, she stepped upon the fallen sheet.
and the girl wailed, falling as if to faint.
Glass shards pierced the skin, thick blood stained a snowy dress,
as it was never her canvas to paint.
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| ~ posted on Instagram - 31st May 2020 |