Today the sun was not found
only rain upon these meadows.
Thistle grew, poking through
black clouds of nightfall.
Dark wingless bird, shadow of stillness
in the quiet stars, so long ago forgiveness
and will it come, soon the dawn,
a day to breathe deeply lunged
or fly away these days born of green
ancient as a forest?
|Subject||∅ 26 mm (~1“), Aquarell|
|Paper||300g Water Color Paper|
|Dimensions||20 × 20 cm|