February exit, March come and start
with downy flake and cold layer of ice;
do insulate impish hidden porthole.
On my end, you inspire me, my art
spreads like water colors on canvas slice;
a brilliance of hues creating a goal.
Each moment, unearthed, like an inventor
who’s master discovery a costly price;
all found in secret sanctuary knoll.
Exuberant youth, guided by mentor;
the meeting of minds, a touch of the soul.
No generation to gap, since we are whole.
Eyes of the porthole lead dear to my heart.
March come, seasons will not keep us apart.
Joining dVerse and Form for All: On Midwinter, Magic Realism, and a Trireme Sonnet