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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