Time conceals itself or opens wide.
Paintings tell the truth while telling lies.
Garden flowers dream of being wild.
No one dreams of being old and wise.
Hold a bunch of daisies, watch them wilt,
Losing their elusive glow and grace.
Things you thought immobile shift and tilt,
Things you thought immortal leave no trace.
Flowing dresses fraying at the hems,
Murky mirrors, books of dainty verse.
Roses fade on brittle thorny stems.
Time advances on and never swerves.
But you dip your brush into the sky,
Painting pensive clouds and playful birds,
Watching silent centuries float by,
Hearing whispers full of ancient words.
Move your brush in endless perfect swirls
Bringing back the long-forgotten worlds.
Auguste Renoir, A Young Girl with Daisies, 1889
long-forgotten worlds
© Copyright: Людмила Прасад, 2021
Свидетельство о публикации №121100800529
Свидетельство о публикации №121100800529
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