(Nature,s wand)

Delicately she weaves a wand with ivory feathered tip, through the midst of time. Crisp as it flows, effortlessly across quartets of seasons on earthly plateau. Elegant are the brush strokes that paints the olive green skin of the favored one, sanctified with infinite youth, with grin that bewitches the mood and tickles the heart. With delectable bursts like that of a gently squeezed fig with golden streaks, dripping ambrosia on the torrid tongue. Brush, brush the precipitant leaves with imperfect contours, harmonized with the splendor of mosaics of supple breasts winding from left to right, followed by blue thawed streams Frozen as they lay by the mischievous deeds of a winter child with silvery spiked hair and icy breath. Gently sways the wand that dips the brush into explosive vividness of amber orange and mustard yellow dreams, now covered in a glow of devilish red, dancing frivolously in my head like gypsy queens, who celebrate life on sun-stroked days Dip, dip the ivory-feathered brush, till the end of days…