MOTHER PEACOCK ~BY ANGELINA ROLSTON

MOTHER PEACOCK

In the late 18th century’s fold,
Corsets cinched, skirts wide, stories untold.
Araminta, Duchess Fair,
Titian locks in garden air.

Verdant realm, where secrets lie,
She sits with a book ‘neath azure sky.
Each line she traces, eyes alight,
Curious mind in evening’s light.

Pink blossom falls, a gentle grace,
Peacock struts, a vibrant trace.
Magnificent, its feathers spread,
Like sunset hues, sky’s tapestry thread.

Did it see her, inquisitive, rare?
Or merely brush by without a care?
She tucks her flower, pink and bright,
For supper waits, in candlelight.

As twilight deepens, shadows dance,
Araminta in her gentle trance.
Feather falls, a silent cue,
Nature’s whisper, old and new.

Kindness and warmth, her aura true,
A bond with nature, old and new.
Not who she fakes, but who she is,
In Mother Nature’s timeless bliss.

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Want to try your hand at poetry? Email me at poeticiapoems@gmail.com

Featured image credits to Breedstock on Pixabay

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