A house on a lake buried within a sea of trees.
The sky glimmering and glowing
just before the suns reaches its highest point.
The grass dried out and the paint of the house faded away.
Canoes gliding passengers delicately across the lake
and villagers gather across the property
as if it is their own.
A mixture of heavy and light brushstrokes
combined with rich, natural colors
encompassed by a shadow,
sucking richness from the painting.
There are dark and light spots
enabling the viewer to visualize
the early morning rush.
Viewing the painting
reminds one of where they once were.
Good or bad. Happy or sad.
A place once held close,
like leaves to a tree.
Now a distant memory,
for you and for me.
Poem adapted from “Mortlake Terrace” by Joseph Turner (Frick Collection)
Disclaimer: This poem was written through a prompt for a class.
