The Sitting Muse

How deeply I feel the season
The fog that rolls over my soul
Not in gloom, but as tulle in a dress
Dancing, twirling through the cold
Raindrops embellishing silver webs:
Mother Nature’s diamonds and pearls.
She dresses stately, a refined matron;
She pounces capriciously, a mischievous girl.
I long to hide away, to wile away
My few remaining, precious hours
Painting her bare in mantle portrait,
Framing the beauty of her unfettered powers

But Father Time is a jealous fellow
Who is reluctant to share her in open session
I must steal my gazes, sketch in haste,
And content myself with the passing impression!