Like colored Easter eggs placed in their nest
These houses built about the hills
Are perfect paintings of an inner best
We cannot see except for these bright frills.
We trust that thrills felt deeper do exist
And there’s no reason not to think they do.
Beneath the painted lips are hearts. When kissed
They warm projecting peace through winters, too.
Linked to Saturday’s Image Write #7 hosted by Bekkie Sanchez featuring a photograph by Gary Lo.
Poetry, Short Prose and Walking 