Whence i find You,
Sitting on the bench,
Just beside the resort,
Our recluse,
Just by those hills,
At that flowery valley,
Like a Mother,
We the children Thine,
(Having a perfect vacation,
From works of daily drudgery,
Chaos , shouts, curses, abuse,
Whence we go there, at thy lair,
Playing, singing, dancing, having a picnic of sorts,
Vacating our clogged , disdainful hearts,)
Just before you singing by Your shine,
Whence i find You,
Opening Your basket, of fruits and Breads,
Like a Beauty of a painted scene,
Youthful, deified, without sins,
i just get into writes, songs, unpremeditated art,
For there, i know, You shine more,
Mother, holding us, in thy sweet embrace, Pure.
(*Note: the painting attached is taken by me, from the wonderous collection of Italian paintings, as archived by a friend mine, an artist and Painter of a kind, Alex Artista, courtesy : Musica Pittura e Dintorni)
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