Vines of flowers gently creeping
over crumbling graying stone
spreading color on the dullness
spilling waves of lovely tone
Paint is peeling curling backward
from the grain of seasoned wood
lying tangled in a jungle
at the place an arch once stood
Knotted bushes reaching skyward
to the tree’s hands reaching down
weaving roses with the willows
like red gems in nature’s crown
By the weathered easel seated
breathes the beauty of this place
in her hair the golden sunset
light of angels on her face
