GOING INTO A PAINTING
The other day I saw a painting, pretty as can be,
Then a funny kind of feeling came right over me,
I was in that painting, walking up to the old door,
Pleasant lights guiding me, I’d been there before.

The sun had just finished sinking far in the west,
The windy evening was at that moment at it’s best,
Home was waiting, with warm fire and loving faces,
It seemed as if I was going home from far off places.

I could hear such sweet sounding music waft toward me,
Welcoming me home from travelling over the distance sea.
My hand paused briefly, knowing what I would see inside,
The cat curled by the fire, my dog, who’s joy he could not hide.

The family stopped eating, I entered without even knocking,
Then, dishes flew as they rushed with their warm welcoming,
The cat looked up, seemed to smile, the dog wagged his tail,
Tears came into every eye, home at last to stay, without fail.

Then it was just a pretty painting once again, my heart sad,
I wanted to join in the celebration of that long lost sailor lad,
I gazed again hoping to find my way back and feel it again,
But I can tell you that I’ll never see that picture the same.

For, for a moment I lived and loved inside a painting fair,
I was in reality part of the painting, I felt I was truly there.
I wish I knew who did the painting so I could say thank you
For an experience that I am sure gave me deep insight anew.

M Ann Margetson December 10, 2001