The Lute                 by Thomas Dewing

Green as…
Green like…

No metaphor to capture where I go
when the images mesh with my eyes
And I breathe…
Slowly, for a while.

The music almost audible
Lyrical sounds without words
But with a melody
that moves the heart to sing.

Time at last to sit with them,
These women of the wood.
Bodies in relaxed repose
With shoulders bared
to the summer breeze.

Are they waiting for some future to arrive
or some past to be forgotten
Or are they mesmerized by moments
of the present?

The fragrance of the flowers
Intoxicates my view
and I find respite
from the world
in these shades of green.