Painted Lady
The evening sun reclines, dips
her trailing skirts into the fire;
she lounges on the edge of dusk,
her sultry lips, crimson desire.
With violet tints, her painted eyes,
brazen behind a blushing cloud,
stare at every lake and pond
to view the beauty she's endowed.
We sigh to see her slip beyond
the rim of sight; her lovely face
may never be just quite the same
as now, framed by the black tree lace.
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014
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