Illusive Composition
The April breeze is melody too soft
To hear, as silent as the fragrance from
The peonies the air now holds aloft,
A separate melody that sends its thrum
Beside the breeze. A madrigal they make,
A natural fugue for eye and soundless ear
Though both the lines of song are clear, opaque
And quiet all at once. The pink plays clear
Inside the mind though notes might not be heard
By earlobes’ curls. The breeze plays clear beside
Pink ears though slighter, waft of hummingbird,
The music of an unheard feathered glide.
The heart does not need glimmers of a smell,
Tint, wind, or hints inside an ocean shell.
~ Phillip Whidden