Waking
The garden was her sanctuary,
but nights were lonely,
and winters wild with longing
of seeds holding secrets tight
beneath frosted stone.
She asked if the magic
had slipped from her life,
she asked if she had let it,
unnoticed the warm embrace
of sun on rock surface,
the dazzle-light on river and
poetry flowing to eternity.
Less black, she says,
paints caramel, green, blue,
onto her heart’s haunted canvas,
adds clouds that dance and play
with the ghosts, sending them
out of range, a blur on the horizon.
It’s Saturday! My poem from the Oracle.
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 
Well, we did it again. Same poem. The garden, the clouds, the warm smooth rock, and the ghost.
Yes, same poem. 🙂
I thought about egg, but then didn’t use it.
WP is trying to be an oracle.
I love the idea of repainting the world. Your third stanza describes my rainbow. (K)
Thank you very much, Kerfe.
Yes, I guess it does!
Love it! Always an interesting read!
Thank you very much! 😊
My pleasure!
Reading of the ‘the warm embrace
of sun on rock surface’ gave me a warm feeling 😊
I’m so pleased it did, Ingrid! 💙
I love the painting metaphor in the Oracle’s poem, but this is my favorite line: “poetry flowing to eternity.” What a thing to dream upon!
Thank you very much, Liz! I appreciate that. 💙
You’re most welcome, Merril!
Fine musings
Thank you, Derrick.