Portrait Of Lissome

Lissome your portraits hang
Lovely changeling in a gallery
Where no being walks into view

There are trees too high to name
Growing in around and so through
Out the land speechless hands attend

To garment draperies of want and wind
Was blowing tender vines of violet blue
Painting your Renaissance ways
In pastel lights in countless plays

And books and songs and poems
Are written with an ancient art
Winding around the shadowed halls

Where no being walks into view
Lovely changelings in a gallery
Lissome, your portraits hang . . .



Poetry by Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2013-05-28 at 02:02

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Quite magical, my friend :>)
It's very intriguing, the place you conjure here. I relished my flight through the tall trees, musing on the mysterious gallery, its artists, and its ancient art form.
Applause!
2013-05-28



I've read this one over and over again. It makes me think. My curiosity begs to sort of unravel it. I like the way you've reversed the three opening lines at the end, changing it just a bit. I'm sure I'll be returning to this one. Excellently done.
2013-05-28