Poem by Doniell Cushman
Painter of the porcelain dame
Clasping the late spring bouquet Irises caress her rounded chin As her wandering eyes betray no grin Luxe off-shoulder gown with lace Stands out against the greyish haze A crown of blooms cradles her head And perhaps, she's a bit coquette Who was your model, and where did she go? With a sigh, I suppose, we'll never really know © Doniell Cushman. All Rights Reserved. This poem or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review. All rights reserved by Doniell Cushman.
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AuthorDoniell Cushman, B.A. cum laude Archives
June 2022
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