Showing

Every morning when I rise
I gaze at grace with different eyes
for pupils awed by love’s array
will gain new insights every day,
their wonder makes them wise

exploring with the curtains drawn
a canvas blanker than the dawn,
so supple one can barely tell
the middle has begun to swell
with adoration’s spawn

and as the drapes begin to part
illuming rays will coyly start
to highlight, as they slowly warm
and elevate a cherished form
from functional to art

while all the critics keen to knock
romanticism best take stock
when purest passion predicates
how any medium relates
as earnest lovers lock.