Monet’s Palette of Lament

A canvas whispers tales with muted hues,
Where emerald tresses in graceful sorrow fuse.
The sun’s warm touch, a golden kiss,
On branches swaying in tender bliss.


The brushstrokes sing, a symphony of light,
Where blues and greens in gentle conflict fight.
Shadows play, a subtle waltz,
In nature’s embrace, where time halts.


The water’s edge, a canvas soft and grey,
Blurs where the willow meets its mirrored sway.
A single teardrop, etched with a steady hand,
A silent mirror to the weeping land.


A gentle breeze, with mournful sighs untold,
Through trembling leaves, a tale unfolds.
A timeless whisper, on canvas held,
Where sorrow’s touch with beauty melds.


A testament to beauty, even in despair,
A reminder that hope can bloom, even there.
For in the depths of sadness, we find grace,
And in the weeping willow, a tranquil space.