Veneta was a lover of art, and later a lover of an artist--she married him, in fact. Many of his paintings hang in my house now, but he was not the watercolor artist of this "aquarelle."
by Veneta Donaldson
The graceful willows' mystic tracery
Reflected by a silver crescent lamp
Resembles pattern etched from memory,
Once marked indelibly with childhood's stamp.
The irised path beside the water's edge
Bears yet no touch of swift, eroding years;
Nor does the drowsy, water-lily hedge
Show sign of Time's long-unassuaged fears.
This rustic scene of fairy, winsome grace
Brings back to mind my childhood's summer dell
So vividly my mind would now erase
The blind dimensions of this aquarelle.
The next poem in this series can be found here: His Mother's Prayer.
This is part of a series of poems by Veneta Donaldson. A brief bio and the beginning of the series can be found here: Veneta Donaldson: A Poet in the Family.
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