Mornings Magic/On My Canvas

In youth's embrace, a woman barely grown,

I'd wake to greet the sun in sylvan glade.

With birdsong as my morning call, I've known

The dew-kissed dawn, where magic oft is made.

The energies, in shifting dance, they sway,

Awaken my being with each new morn.

As vines upon a tree, they seem to play,

Entwining me, by nature's spell reborn.

Upon my cheeks, the tingling kiss of dawn,

As if from fairy's hand, a gentle touch.

In that brief moment, spirit's veil withdrawn,

I glimpse anew the wonders meant so much.

For in the heart of morning's golden light,

I find the whimsy, pure and shining bright.

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Dreams unfurl on canvas wide,

Shadows dance with light allied.

Themes of duality intertwined,

In art's realm, the mind's defined.

Brushstrokes glide with patient grace,

A ballet upon the painted space.

Familiar faces, yet out of place,

In this realm of imagined chase.

Lost in colors, I gently sway,

Amidst the hues of night and day.

A symphony of paint, a vivid play,

Where creativity holds its sway.

In this world, stark and gray,

My art stands bright, come what may.

A beacon in the dim, a guiding ray,

In the gallery of dreams, it finds its way.