Poetry

(after Robert Browning)
 
I
 
Notice the fairy hanging on the wall
where she mischievously smiles as if she is alive.
That painting was painted for me by my wife
and although it’s somewhat small
 
it’s a masterpiece if ever I have seen one
and there is something in her glance
as if her eyes is radiant like the sun
but still it’s difficult to contemplate her countenance
 
but strangers like you notice her breast
and the light and shadow in the paint
or remark on the royal colour of her dress
but still lingering is something faint
 
as if there is an odour in the air,
as if she is right here.
 
II
 
In a week for business you are right back
and where the fairy was is just a blank spot
and on the wall to you something does lack
“but it was such a lovely thing was it not?”
 
“My wife ripped it apart,
said that there was evil to it
as she burned it bit by tiny bit”
“But it was such great art,”
you do protest
and I wonder what evil it did posses
in the eyes of my dearest.
 
[Reference:  “My last duchess” by Robert Browning.]