The marginal thunder creates evening curtain

Landscape infinitely rolling painted Iris Moss

There is a house high on a hill

Wooden recluse brought tears

A pontification veiled the woman’s thoughts

Cortex of the medulla oblongata gave her weakness

The side’s steps leading to the kitchen were just as rickety

Are these the staircase to heaven I heard about?

Once inside a familiarity painted her with comfort

The attic intrigued with wonderful smells of musty treasures

Collections of nostalgia flooded emotions

Feeling and touching with the same amour of lovers

Aged jars with yellowed labels, handsomely painted bees

Cobwebs scalloped window sills resembling Victorian lace

Just then splendor of nature caught her eye

There were honeycombs

Assumption I was sure was correct

Feeling melancholy when I was whisked away

There remained strong feelings within the cells

Evening curtain tucked away

Sunlight saturate each window

She had to ponder about the evening’s adventure

Came to a conclusion, awareness of bees

She was a farmer no doubt….oh she was a farmer