Chapter 4 -- A Gallery Tour
Misty Skycanvas,
Old Man Winter's savagely swirling
study-in-gray
is brightly
brushed over
by gentle Spring's watercolour aura.
Ah, the fragrant verdant season,
whose maidenly blossoms are sweetly laid
across the ivy braided pastel forests,
across her covered mountains,
by Summer's ice-cream breath.
Oh Time,
spread like a faraway table of bread and cheese and wine,
spread across the honey hayscented meadows of Lady Autumn,
in the poet's month.
The spell so swiftly cast
by your repeated period portraits
is boldly framed by the fleeting horizon.
So what is this challenge
from sudden northern chills that sharply pierce
the marrow of ancient bones?
Who knows?
Is it not just an invitation
to the jolly ear of Youth?
Who shall come and contemplate
the rustle and crackle of etched leaves
(still) sailing,
tossed by the winds of fate,
between arched and whispering trees?
Look,
all remaining citizens of the small university town of St. Luke resign themselves to
wearing
comfortable coats
e h
e i
n
g
and dry k
h stockings!