The world was all too dank and dull,
From forty shades of gray.
Little Anne longed to escape;
To go so far astray.
In dreamy sighs she did recline
Her head back to the earth;
And as the world before her changed
Anne gave a cry of mirth.
The sun was high up in the sky,
Its glare against the pines-
Looming mysterious blackish green,
Their bodies wreathed in vines.
The mossy path of cobblestone
Was weathered past repair.
It curved in fashion serpentine;
The trees leaned down in prayer.
Little Anne took it all in,
But thought the place too still.
She longed for broader spectral sight;
The land bent to her will!
Encouraged by her swift success,
Anne raised her slender arms.
She pictured them as dove-like wings,
White with feathered charms.
She felt her bones grow light with air;
Her wings lifting her core;
And felt herself leap from the ground,
Imagination soar.
And so Anne took to the skies,
Above her dreams unfurled.
But too far- too much altitude,
And her mind spun and whirled.
Turn back, turn back!- she told herself,
'Twas getting out of hand;
Her dreams had taken her so far,
Yet her flight had to land.
And now for once she closed her eyes...
The world before her disappeared.
She felt a flash of weightlessness,
But then- her vision cleared.
Anne lay sprawled back in her room;
Bed plaited monochrome.
She felt a twinge of sadness,
But then announced, "I'm home."
And so see, you can go anywhere
With imagination strong,
But forget not to rewind your steps;
Come back where you belong.
VOUS LISEZ
The Artist's Palette- A Poetic Collection
PoésieThis anthology is selfsame to an artist's palette- poets carefully choose and blend their emotions on the creative panel of their mind before applying it in rationed amounts to the paper, the same way a painter would coalesce colors on a palette and...
