How green-eyed is the painter of the sunset’s hues!
He cannot capture them and put them in his pot
nor even copy them with dowdy paints he’s bought.
And yet, he loves the sunset, marvels in its blues!
How covetous the dancer is of sunset’s moves!
She cannot be as subtle by the way she’s taught
nor just as strong, capricious, eloquently raw.
And yet, she loves the sunset, worshipping its shoes!
How wishful is the singer of the sunset’s tones!
She cannot radiate the warmth beyond the West
nor speak her beauty only with a moment’s rest.
And yet, she loves the sunset, stores it in her bones!
How jealous are the arts against the sunset’s grace –
and yet, look how they love its flaxen face!
Hey Mike
ReplyDeleteGreat reading your sonnet. The way you put message in verse is beautiful. "she cannot radiate the warmth beyond the west"..wow look at that...it's amazing..your words too are very new.. "eloquently raw" brings before the eyes a young ballerina performing ..wow!wow!
Thank you so much, Mr. Singh! I'm glad you enjoyed this one.
ReplyDeleteLovely!! Such a beautifully constructed poem--a unique take on a classic subject.
ReplyDeleteThanks again, Beth! (I caught some errors while re-reading it two days ago...oopsie!)
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