Evelyn Judy Buehler

March 18, 1953 - Chicago
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The 'Still' of the Night

I was for long an active art enthusiast, with a special passion for still lifes,
As the roving, scarlet sun, develops late passion for the bustling nightlife.

I was ofttimes in large art museums, and I had traveled this whole world,
Always looking for another beautiful work, like lustrous moonlight pearls.

I zealously hunted lovelies by day, but I was a wide eyed, night owl, too,
As bright meteors turn into shooting stars, then disappear from our view.

My fabulous family shared in my zeal, and we often compared artworks,
As evergreen trees adapt to less rain or sun, and to nature's odd quirks.

I lived in the house of fragrant flowers, on a breezy hill, in vivid meadow,
Which was pleasant through the hours, when balmy winds began to blow.

Pleasant neighbors smiled to greet me, like citrine sunbeams gone astray,
To seek their fortune in the sapphire world, perhaps to return another day.

Pretty summer was in its wilder phase, and green was way out of control;
As the black velvet of nighttime, which envelops the earth and sky whole.

Sweet birdsong entered rapturous daydreams, as the sky met azure sea,
And rapid waves and cotton clouds were dancing, as if there was a party!

Late one night, when the outer world was hushed, still I was wide awake,
As stars never divulge one whisper, of lovely dreams and plans we make.

While making myself a cup of scented tea, I saw cherries in a silver bowl,
Which I had placed there that afternoon, very delicious and very colorful.

But by some strange magic, the item had become, a still life work of art,
Complete with its own gilt frame, a thing of rarest beauty from the heart.

Before I had a chance to react, several more objects were immortalized,
Such as a porcelain pitcher and flowers. Fine art had become normalized!

The next items of nocturnal passion, were a jar of honey and an orange,
Followed by a vase of bright, yellow blooms, in a reality come unhinged!

Although night is widely known for stillness, how truly still was the night,
And was it affected by some subtle magic, of the mysterious moonlight?

The change to those objects was permanent, I hung them upon my walls,
And I learnt there are likely paintings all around, when we look and recall.

Those nocturnal works are my favorites, so I've no need to roam as much,
For serene beauty is anywhere you find it, just waiting for the visual touch.

Like pearl moonlight that caresses the dark waters, when the world is still,
And soft breezes linger in the trees, and stars twinkle into ruby dawn until!
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