Her brush is but a shovel,
Her canvas a patch of dirt,
Her paints consist of the flowers and ferns that God has placed upon this Earth.
Her artwork is ever changing as the seasons come and go,
Her art is always beautiful even when sprinkled with snow
Her daughter is a musician,
her son has a talent for sketch,
Her husband is a jack of all trades and has passed on all of his gifts.
But, she does not realize her talent to create beauty every day,
Her garden is a masterpiece that is always on display.
My mother is an artist
My mother is my friend
My mother is a Survivor,
And I cherish her to no end.
Liquid pools of amber Melted on the hearth With just a touch of shimmer Glowing in the dark The smell of midnight jasmine The warmth of fresh hot soot The spell had been successful The Witch now had her brew A small crystal vial On a ribbon round her throat It glows with then light Of a thousand moonlit moats The brew within her locket Is a spell as old as time Its secrets to be revealed When the Moon and stars are right
Through a veil of green willows
He sees her at the lake
Her hair is full of wildflowers
Her gown of lavender lace
His eyes are a mist of daydreams
His heart like the wings of a bird
His strong demeanor shaken as he gazes through the woods
Afraid of the feelings that dwell inside
He turns to leave this place
No ready at this time to discover the visions face
With head hung low he walks to his steed
Unaware of the shadow that follow
When a hand warm and tender touches the hem of his cloak
A shudder runs deep and he turns around
His eyes lock with the lady of the lake
A kiss so soft she grants him
then shimmers and fades away
The tales he had heard form the time of his youth replay themselves in his mind
The phantom bride of the lake
Had kissed his mouth this night
A smile so bright emerges on his face as he gives his steed a wink
He will come back another time and the bride on the lake will be his.