#thearteclectic

Hound in Armour

Red and white against blue sky,

the flowers reach toward light.

While Roots Below compete for space,

The picture of Gwen, outside Louden,

attracted many views.

It learned from each just how to watch,

and gathered what they knew.

And then one day, without fanfare,

it opened up its eye,

frightening all the tourists

enough to make some cry.

The tourists told their story,

and many stayed away.

But others grew more curious,

so more came every day.

Now the picture's never lonely,

and its eye does never close.

But it's getting very tired.

Bloomfish spend their lives swimming through ponds of unformed thought,

among the lilies yet to bloom and thunderstorms unwrought.

They feed upon the nibble seeds that drift beneath the foam,

Under Cover of Flowers,

he hides from all that's bright.

Perhaps we need to pick some,

Olym-paw-ya

The Briarheart holds a special thought,

too dangerous to reveal,

bound safely in its bramble cage

with thorn and root for seal.

She watches and protects the heart

as if it were her prize,

but whispers sonnets at the thorns