| Mother Fair |
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| Spring by Claude Monet – 1886 |
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Who has not wondered at the waking morn,
When day opened dew-wet lashes anew,
Of essence who watched while the world was born,
Wearing fragranced lace of virginal hue!
I saw her extend tender fingertips,
Forth aspiring as towering spires,
While shy cherries scarcely dared bare their limbs.
Her bloom proceeded from mystical lips
That whispered of timeless budding desires,
In a choir of a thousand sacred hymns.
__________
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| Poppy Field in Argenteuil by Claude Monet – 1873 |
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Do you remember one warm afternoon,
When she danced in the form of leaves of grass,
To a beat of monarch’s wings and bee tune -
And frolicked free, in revelry and sass,
Until the tulips colored to the rims,
And daffodils brimmed over with nectar!
She was passionate in yielding a gain!
As a sparkling sunbeam in a brook swims,
She reflected her radiant specter,
Dwelling in rainbows after a light rain.
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| The Church at Varengeville (Autumn Effect) by Claude Monet – 1882 |
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A season of plenty came to her door,
When grain weighed heavy the harvester’s hand,
And no unsatisfied want could ask more
Than a full portion of her fruitful land -
A share in her bountiful granaries!
She had stocked her store with goodness to share.
Thus with no greater virtue to impart,
She gleaned the magic-laden apple trees,
Partaking of the crisp October air,
Until sweet-ripened to the very heart.
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| Floating Ice near Vetheuil by Claude Monet – 1880 |
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In an amber glow of low-setting sun,
Weary drooped below the edge of the sky,
Where bare-boned beeches and alders are done,
I have seen resignation in her eye.
Now remorseless north winds blow cruel and cold,
Sifting the stubbled fields with wisps of snow.
And storm clouds threaten from their lofty lair.
She has forgotten, since she has grown old,
All of her promises made so long ago.
O where are you going, my mother fair?
~ Daniel F Mitchell |
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