I paint, I write, because I belong to it, my life’s work
Where the old house
Tangled in the wildwood growth
Hangs the apple blossoms on the windows shade

                    

                    

That place in the wander of my memory
It dreams and in through the wood
It dreams the moon on the pier of the sea
It dreams in wheat fields and wildwood flower
Where the shadows of light do seldom follow

It is the road that leads me here
Away from the summers red and red and red

And there is a beauty in knowing
Like a ghost or a new born bird
Humming into the air

You try to catch the bird
By breaking at the air with words

And where the night-spells call
I walk the shadow of the wood    

But if I could, cut its thorn
And offer you the rose

What color would you prefer? Red or Rose?