Friendship

I sit in the museum Visiting with my friend, Auguste Renoir. ``Your friend, Renoir?'' you say. I note your raised eyebrows And amused smile. ``Surely he died long before your birth!'' ``My friend,'' I reaffirm. For what is friendship But the attraction of minds With like thoughts and ideas. Does friendship need A vocal interchange? Through Renoir's brushstrokes I share slices of his life. I sense his love of color And admire his ability To dapple light across a canvas. He inspires the poet in me To play with color and light In my words. His happy temperament is Mirrored in his models; Bringing to his paintings A serenity That warms his viewers. Certainly, in this friendship I take more than I give. With each visit I see the beauty of another line And note a bit of color That had heretofore Escaped my eye. It makes me feel That Renoir, too, Desires to keep our friendship alive.

Share this story:

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...

Loading...

Save for later

Save
Cancel

Saved ( of items)

This item has been saved to read later from any device.
Access saved items through your user name at the top of the page.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You reached the limit of 20 saved items.
Please visit following link to manage you saved items.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You have already saved this item.

View Saved Items

OK