Looking out the window at night,
But it’s only mirrored, and into me,
And closed to any other eyes.

What will grow both in, and out,
This moment painted of still life.

I’m alone with this, but yet,
There are many of this still life,
Never a frame for the outside.

But a little added life, of a flower,
We hold, in the color of love.

©2007, Ron Globe