A house on a lake buried within a sea of trees.

The sky glimmering and glowing

just before the suns reaches its highest point.

The grass dried out and the paint of the house faded away.

Canoes gliding passengers delicately across the lake

and villagers gather across the property

as if it is their own.

A mixture of heavy and light brushstrokes

combined with rich, natural colors

encompassed by a shadow,

sucking richness from the painting.

There are dark and light spots

enabling the viewer to visualize

the early morning rush.

Viewing the painting

reminds one of where they once were.

Good or bad. Happy or sad.

A place once held close,

like leaves to a tree.

Now a distant memory,

for you and for me.

Poem adapted from “Mortlake Terrace” by Joseph Turner (Frick Collection)

Disclaimer: This poem was written through a prompt for a class.