An Older Poem from "Monet at Giverny"

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from "Monet at Giverny"
Steven Riddle

June 1922
The end
of my stay, my art,
my canvasses, my footbridge,
the waterlilies will be here
when I cannot see them.
Just now they fade from my sight,
dimming against the water.
I think it is sunset.

My house is cold,
a rose in frost with no door.
I am alone,
the evening is more red than sunset,
I stand at the center of a flower
opening dew-laden petals.
It is morning.

c 2002 Steven Riddle

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This page contains a single entry by Steven Riddle published on September 20, 2002 8:06 AM.

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