Whence Thou come, angelic, at the door of our opened heart, one morning of our waking *

It was another morning perhaps,
it might be another Beauty of a dusk,
I , being so flooded  by thy gift, of creative ignorance,
Didn't even know what the times we were in,
I only looked at You, like morning's dew
On my rosy petals, turned softest,
By Thy Peace and Grace,
Chopin Then  i heard , like  spring waltz,
Beethoven i heard too, in me,
And Then , i again, looked at You,
Such poise, such Gait, such colored escape!

Who had been thy muse,
Who hath caused You, to run,
Your painted awesome , your canvas,

I didn't care to know that even,
Whence You come, painted thus,
I just get into songs, your creation,
I just think of nothing, no ways,
Only, whence, Weguelin,
You i find, so filled with the Beauty of The Unseen,
The Unfelt, The Rhyme, The Lovely potion, the Rhythm.

(*Note: the picture attached is Wonderous work of painting, by John Reinhard Weguelin, titled 'Lesbia')


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