Lois Linkens transported me with Alvide
It is mid-afternoon at the Hansen’s.
Cups of tea grow chill, the window’s open
Breeze is bracing on Alvide’s pale white neck.
All is quiet, save the deft scratch and screck
Of brush on paper, blossoms spread by hand.
Let us see, her sisters think, but utter nought –
‘Tis not an education simply bought
For ladies such as Alvide. Constantin
Is off at school. Paints, silent
In the old house with the old men. He meant
To write, but busy is the artist’s day,
To sister Alvide’s knowledge and dismay.
Let us see, her sisters plead. Young hearts bleed,
That eyes would ne’er her talents see nor heed.