The woman with flowers, at Dusk*

When the twilight comes,
Making a Beauty of painted sky,
When towards home,
All the birds do fly,
You would oft come,
Carrying a bouquet
And i just look at your face,
How upon you, the dusk
Makes a wonderous light trace,

And the bouquet too
Gets thy colors ,
So subtle yet sparse,

I just look at
Thy painted face,
As if drenched by colors
Of a dusk, so magnanimous.

(*Note: loosely based upon a painting as attached, done by Lynch Albert, courtesy : Musica Pittura e Dintorni bis)

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