|Sweet Summer, 1912, John William Waterhouse|
roots that grow from within you
seem to hold a familiar tone
as if I've heard it once before
the warmth slowly spreads
like a gentle summer breeze
colouring the cheeks
verses unwritten linger on my lips
in the garden where I speak
of my suffering to the roses
it's fire and smoke they sense
wrapped in the sweet summer air
Written for the mag #225.
Always adored the paintings by Waterhouse.