The Grounds, St. Paul de Mausole Hospice and Vincent Van Gogh
The trees were just as he saw them
Twisted trunks, withering branches
Plaintively reaching for the glow
Of the pale blue and pink sky.
Gray leaves flashing silver at the falling sun,
Dry, pale ochre weeds coating the earth below.
The edge of his palette knife
Marking this place
Still so full of his presence.