High Windows


a way up there a century or so ago

twas a slower era during a season of heavy snow

a painter of unknown stature worked alone and sad

he painted in obscurity in images unclad

from his high window he made the street alive

from his high window he longed for a wife

days became years as he toiled in lonely moods

the canvas told the stories and their platitudes

his pain was always there as his hands made the beauty

he saw a young maiden going about her duty

she shopped in the market and made a daily walk

he fell in love from the window his feelings so unlocked

he wanted to go down there and say hello and more

his courage always waned but his desire went on to soar

he decided on the day as he rubbed his stubbled chin

but the ship had already sailed and she never appeared again


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