Wall Mirrors

I’ve been on display in this art gallery for 23 years,
Yet I was painted in 1609,
I’ve hung in a library and over a great hall fireplace,
I spent 68 years locked in an attic,
And another 7 years in a cellar,
I was laid on my back and cleaned,
I was touched up and reframed,
Now I hang here in this gallery,
Looking at statues and other works of art,
And people walking past,
A few stop to look, but most walk past,
Groups stand and stare, as the guides chat,
I once saw myself, that was in 1942,
A 6 month display of wall mirrors and there I was,
I had no idea I had a lady beside me,
Or a dog by my chair,
Before 1942 I wondered who I was,
Now I wonder who we are,
Being framed has its benefits,
The artist who painted me told me that,
I wish he had painted somebody else.




Poetry by JohnJohn
Read 115 times
Written on 2023-03-14 at 07:19

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D G Moody
What an unusual poem - in the best way. The devise of letting the painting talk works so well, another good one John John.
2023-03-14