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.
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