Grotto Glory
The afternoon was fabled
T’was way past two o’clock
The revelers were sleeping
In lawns where mangroves dock.
Some dogs and cats lay silent
Just resting on the grass
Soft willows ceased their weeping
Near bays of azure glass.
The shells formed giant fountains
Magnolias shaded coves
Slim banners, striped and cunning
Gold putti, round as loaves.
Between coquina columns
My paintings gently leaned
Moss covered rocky spires,
Like stalactites they seemed.
The one was blue, ethereal
The other orange-red.
Their home a paisley palace
Mosaic, grotto bed.
The dawn brought recognition.
Rich glory of the dream
In groves of alabaster
And Neptune’s virile gleam.
Recounting scenes of splendor
My work so finely gowned
I noted that my paintings
In dreams were upside down.
The morning light was weary
Much paler than those dreams
My paintings by a blank wall
Seemed ragged at the seams.
Remembering the offer
To show in halls so fair
I knew I had my answer
Night’s vision was a dare.
While drinking my strong coffee
I closed the door to fame
Compared to my fair splashes
Olympus seemed quite lame.
