Post by keith on Mar 20, 2021 16:59:59 GMT -5
Her book lay open by the fire, as evening stretched and yawned again
Over her shoulder whispers flowed, through white lace curtains then through rain
To somewhere near, yet far away, where kiss soft breezes touch the day
Where eyes touch eyes and understand, in such a perfect natural way
That sometimes stories write themselves before they feel the need to live,
And sometimes love is realised, so much to feel, so much to give
Before the pages turn again, through white lace curtains, through the rain
The fire throws shadows at the wall, so many reasons to explain.
While she slept on, smoke serpents wound about her dream dressed face
And firelight painted beautifully her texture lit amazing grace,
As sleep turned minutes into hours, and tired fire dragons drooped and slept
Between the edges of her curtains, morning sunlight slowly crept
Into a room of jewelled gloom, of bracelet jingling waking shade
As she awoke and raised an arm, oblivious of the noise it made,
She gave a gasp and stood up straight, and then she drew the curtains wide
Where silver sun and knitted rain made rainbows for the day outside.
She placed her bamboo fire screen in front of long dead flame
And painted Geisha ladies bowed, immersed within their shame,
Then her book dropped to the fireside rug, and closed itself once more
Another pain come back again, another half closed door,
And by her feet a favourite bookmark of embroidered silken gold
That she recovered and slipped slowly to the book’s half open fold,
Then she slowly realised where she was, and took a final look
As she sadly dematerialised, and stepped back inside the book…
and 
all
time for me 
echoes, hope you all are doing well 
