Twenty Miles of Blue
A portrait painting lays plastered to the porch, A red red door reads number thirty-seven,
A few men looking neither here nor there, Gather at the gate sporting even’ wear.
A giggling gaggle of flocking lady figures, Feature, swirling serenely to the left,
Turning heads, lifting others slightly, While they move rather spritely.
And above all this small commotion, A blackbird and a rock dove, wile away the hours,
Flying, flocking also, as birds are seen to do, Their feathers flutter and are free in twenty miles of blue.