Windows dipped in abstract quills—

vignette views of coastal hills.


A pantomime beneath a chuddar,

fan-shaped hands— a blurry flutter.


Heavy thoughts on pillows suede,

reflect in eyes of precious jade.


Questions heard but seldom spoke,

afraid of feelings they evoke.


Are we not, but children free—

gifts of love from just one tree?


© Angela Trumble 2012 A Literary Artist’s Music