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Burgundy

In ruby-hued satin, she pirouettes alone, Her form a silhouette against the tone Of evening's blush, where shadows softly play, Amidst the burgundy that wraps her frame at bay. With every step, the fabric billows wide, A skirt of old-money elegance inside, Yet her bare skin glistens like polished stone, Ethereal, untainted, utterly her own. Her arms, entwined, create a pose of grace, A Botticelli vision in a modern space, As if the nymphs of ancient lore had come, To dance and twirl, unbound by mortal thumb. Time stands still in this suspended scene, Where art and life entwine, a sanguine dream, Of freedom's fleeting nature and its hold, On hearts that beat within a living mold. She is a vision born of color, light, And the intoxicating thrill of unbridled might, A fleeting moment preserved in embered thought, Of a woman bold, in radiance untaught.
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Whistle a Tune of Twinkle

Whistle a Tune of Twinkle




Whistle a tune of twinkle,
A melody in the night,
With stars up in the heavens,
That sparkle pure and bright.

The moon is softly glowing,
As shadows dance and sway,
While fireflies are drifting,
In their own sweet ballet.

There’s music in the garden,
Where dreams and laughter play,
With whispers of the breezes,
To guide us on our way.

So whistle a tune of twinkle,
Let joy and magic soar,
For every note is precious,
And life’s a song to explore!




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