Zentangle And on the hill, where, turning white,
The ruin of the castle looks into the valley,
You were standing there, the youngest fairy,
Leaning on mossy granite,
Baby's foot touching
The wreckage of a century-old pile;
And the sun lingered, saying goodbye
With the hill, and the castle, and you.
And the wind is quiet in passing
I was playing with your clothes
And from wild apple trees, color by color
He put it on the shoulders of the young.
You looked carelessly into the distance...
the edge of the sky was smokey extinguished in the rays;
The day was burning down; she sang more loudly
The river in the darkened banks. . Intricate, abstract, monochrome, patterns, meditative, highly detailed