I cannot paint with artists' brush nor sculpt
With clay a face so loved nor can I play
Your sonata upon ivory keys
Or sing your joyful song in lifted voice.
I cannot fly on wings of gilded dreams
Nor shout from mountains high to touch Heaven
In hopes that you could feel this love I hold
So close...love that lives within memories.
But I can write soft words in sonnets fair
Or pen an ode or two in sweetest verse.
I can ink gentle thoughts, yesterday's bliss
Captured in lines of remembered moments.
And as my pen whispers across the page
I can let words say what I cannot paint.
But you did paint it-- beautifully. Just as Butch and Linda said. --Charlie
Reviewed by Butch Howard (Reader)
Reviewed on March 5, 2007
Myrna, you may not be able to paint with a brush or play a song upon ivory keys, but you certainly can paint a beautiful picture from your brilliant palette of words. Lovely and deeply moving...
~Butch
Your poem shows, again, a mastery of revisiting our departed loved ones. Surely, this one is crafted from memories so precious; they must break from text into our hearts. In your case it isn't a talent, but an urgency to pay tribute to a rare and undying Love. In these lines, Dear Lady, you've created a different living memorial.. - Bill
A people’s heart can be found in their poetic words. In history men and women have stood firmly upon their soapboxes and street corners, rallying the deepest beliefs of people to rise up and be heard. The poetrypages.com has offered that voice a new
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~Butch
Elizabeth
You have painted this beautifully with your words.
Excellent!
Blessings to you,
~Linda
Blessings,
Joyce Bowling
Beautiful sensitive write,You've done it again,
Loved it,
Michael
Rusty