Artist Jane

The little poetess Jane

Conjured up a masterful piece,

Of flightless birds, as herself

As others can mirror in the very black & white font,

to dream of matching such things in angelic face

Jane, your artistry is above

Beauty and grace,

A tired old man as I,

Recalling your poetic prose,

Rejuvenates my old spirit indeed.

Your art rejoins in linked

Red sun-soaked trauma,

But also moon-kissed hope,

A gentle reminder of love lapped upon your painted

Canvas.

You are correct as I live in a madhouse, with a mad raven whom possesses me—-

I, Edward, must have the key to give myself the freedom,

To live in a sound soft way, no more brash, smashing piano keys,

Just your soft overture,

Of Moonlight Sonata,

Or a softer song we create, as we pinged

To each other,

Star crossed codes across the seas.