Sun-bleached
grasses,
My easel, paints,
and brush
All I see.
What in the world
Is worth painting
here
Or anywhere?
All under the sun is fading;
The green leeched
From
the grass.
Fair clouds
breeze open
For sun to stand
trial.
Rich rays touch
grass golden,
Bring butterweed,
Blue cornflower
to light.
Radiance restored.
Case closed.
To view the picture that inspired this ekphrastic poem, click here. This is not an affiliated link; I won't receive compensation if you purchase something from the gallery. I just thought you might enjoy seeing the picture.
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