Poetry

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If I could paint, I’d take my brush
And swipe it smooth across the page.
I’d try to show creation’s hush
At dusk when evening comes of age.

I’d dip into the faintest hue
And give the sky a tinge of pink.
Then guide a swath of deepest blue
In which a tiny star would wink.

The grass would be a mossy green
With flowers blooming in delight.
The dancing lake would catch the gleam
Of mountains deepening out of sight.

A bird would soar with silver wing
To touch the clouds the purples hold.
Oh, with my brush I’d make it sing,
Above the valley bathed in gold.

I’d paint a girl with rosy cheek
Who’d kneel beneath a leafy dome.
The setting sun would give a peek
Of her awaited heav’nly home.

If I could paint, I’d show the world
Creation’s blush upon the page,
Her glorious beauty all unfurled
At dusk when evening comes of age.


© 2005 Amy Michelle Wiley

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