A Portrait of Death
She opened the window wide,
Salty wind flowing through her hair,
Watching waves rolling into the tide,
Staring into the sunset's beautiful glare.
Her paint brush began to move,
Carefully swishing waves onto paper,
Seagulls flapping their wings in approve,
Her face got hot, tears fell, transforming into vapor.
A soft-spoken voice gently sang in the breeze,
"Hush, my dear, there's no need to cry"
The soothing whisper set her mind at ease,
Only on her paint brush could she rely.
She remembered long ago, the words "till death do us part"
Nothing reminded her better of death, than expressing it in her art.
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