A painting lures me back in time this day

Past sumac patch where candelabras flame.

Penumbras left by artist's brush to muse

Appear on canvas spawning autumn hills

Like crazy quilt once spread on Grandma's bed.

An attic holds the what-nots that were hers.

Cadenzas improvised by wind on stone

Have furnished sound without her solo voice;

Instead, her epitaph provides the words.

And I reach back to trim her lantern bright.

(Between the Thorns by M. Ray Allen - Page 1)