Who Loves Watercolors, Beauty, and Art?


Flowers and portraits everywhere,
My house is an art gallery,
Waiting for visitors to share,
Watercolors with stories to tell,
Portraits expectantly watching the door,
Silent now, for I am easy to ignore,
Always there, but nobody more,
At the sight of the first painting my heart leaps,
A girl with dark eyes and curls,
Above my mantel weeps,
Her teddy bear tightly clutched in her hands,
“Where are my friends? I don’t understand!”
I shrug and continue on my way,
I don’t have an answer, perhaps another day,
Nearby a tiger protects her cub from intruding force,
Cautiously I tiptoe past and leave,
There is no need to challenge her of course,
Ben, from India, wearing a scarf of red,
Watches intently from the stair,
“My family has never seen me.
Perhaps they’re not aware.”
A cat beside the door,
With a proud and haughty air,
Swishes her tail as if she cares,
But she stays quiet and does not respond,
In the dining room awaiting inspection,
A single rose waves to the amaryllis,
Where ladybugs and dew,
Clamor for their share of attention too,
The rose ignores a bright-eyed squirrel that’s ready to play,
So he chatters at me, “How are you today?”
I retreat into my study and seize my phone,
But a portrait reminds me I’m not alone,
With blood on her fingertips and blood on her lips,
A stern-faced girl admonishes, “Never forget,”
Be ever on guard, always alert,”
Her warning heeded, I leave with a scowl,
In the room above, a wolf surrounded by daisies,
Lifts his head and howls,
In all the commotion I detect some surprise,
In a nearby room reside girls with bright eyes,
“A visitor,” one whispers, “who’s come to see,
Me, just me, and only me,”
But another smiles, “I don’t agree,”
In the hall, aware of their conceit,
A boy smiles, but he’s very discrete,
Downstairs a girl with dreds,
Dominates a wall, unconcerned with all,
That is unfolding before her,
A clown blows a kiss,
And grins at a young miss,
Sitting pretty upon a bench,
A smile frozen on her face,
She asks, “Do visitors come to this place?”
Her question is reasonable,
But no answer she receives,
I’ve asked myself that question and often I grieve,
But who loves watercolors, beauty, and art?
Oft I’ve invited, I’ve done my part,
So the portraits wait patiently and stare into space,
Ignored and lonely, it’s such a disgrace,
I’m in this house with fifty and more,
Waiting and pacing, treading the floor,
Perhaps you’re ready to come this way,
I’ll check with them to see what they say,
They’ll not object to find you here,
But I want you to know they might stare,
They’re eager to please those who stop by,
But I’ll give you no reason, I don’t know why.

One thought on “Who Loves Watercolors, Beauty, and Art?

  1. “I’ve asked myself that question and often I grieve”. That hit the heart deep. And then, the portraits are eager to please those who stop by. I see where this came from. Good one, but a long one. 🙂

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