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!