My dear little one, home, ill.
My beautiful little Vermeer, or Carl Larsson,
in the light that surrounds you
Waterhouse or Cicely Mary Barker, in your face, the light, the spark that you contribute
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from within
My flower fairy, flaxen haired, skin of white gold,
eyes of varying green, bluegreen, gray,
A widows peak, forming, I've only just noticed,
where her silken flax meets her silken skin
Cherubic, become fae
Quiet, soft, on the mend.
Quiet, soft, on the mend.
Cherished moments,
the world slowed
Sun dapples the green and gray shade on the floor
of her fairy bower
through the windows of spring
green all round, quiet growing
like my sweet one
so rare in stillness
her hand in mine
a book between us
our eyes on the ceiling
both able to
share this moment
sweet like gossamer candy floss
and spun as delicate ephemeral
hearts united
my sweet love.
Oh, Circe - this is so beautiful - just so beautiful.
ReplyDeleteI hope to read more of your poetry, in the future - it's like a delightful, warm breeze in my life.
Healing thoughts,
Amanda
Thank you, Amanda. That is very high praise.
ReplyDeleteI am so lucky, blessed, in so many ways. Though through both the fortunate and unfortunate we can find inspiration, even guidance, no?
I'm glad I can contribute a warm breeze to someone. Although, my little one really is the sweet fresh air in our house, so I suppose what I've really shared, contributed, is her!
Thank you for your kindnesses.
Circe