Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Gainsborough by Bob Atkinson

(c)2012 Bob Atkinson

born in the year '27
in Taurus, a good sign
late in the evening's darkness
 a Wednesday's crisp spring night

he gave what few had given
in those days of circumstance
something to the world at large
beyond both song and dance

captured memories of the past
those golden scenes of his depiction
those expressive faces 
and flowing gowns
all now gone, or ripped to pieces

those beauties with fine faces
those smiles and sulking looks
those poses without expression
those frowns of devil's hooks

today we have what isn't ours
because he was a man
who could leave for all to see
what life looked like back then

died in '88
an event for us to lament
his passing tore from our hearts
one of history's best connections

have this feeling we cannot shake
we know it very well, indeed
the internal wanting, craving
to view those early seeds

seeds sewn that created us
those seeds of circumstance
so different from our own we see
what has become such emptyness

  those with such different mores
those times of struggle to stay alive
those times of life much harder
those times of fierce internal pride

those things we grew apart from
those character traits adorned
of those now dead and buried
still able to teach us better norms

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