Thursday, May 27, 2010

Pastel Memories

A rustling stray; gentle,
From an ashened wood; whispers,
To a rigid curb left behind.
Pastel memories,
Soaked in time's finest liquors,
Glaze past a torrid mind.
In a winter's solace; frozen still,
A heartbeat's awakened
To a subdued thrill,
Where there's a way, there's a will!
Might be a way,
But there may be no will.
Or a will; halfway, but no will, still.
There's the canvas; fine and elegant,
An inspiration, a dream, a sketch to instill,
There are colors; abundant,
endless shades, endless refills.
There may be no reason, yet, to re-color,
The pastel memories of Abbie'sville!

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