I was a celebrated, dramatic mime artist, an art developed in ancient Greece;
I took folks on flights of imagination, like cushy, butterscotch clouds of fleece.

So beloved was this art called re-creation, that it had for long been a passion,
Which left contemporary audiences happy, like hued rainbow's lovely sections.

The art had ever fascinated me, being able to convey so much without words,
Only expression, motions and heavy makeup, as when rose and night concur.

Fab, familiar friends flashed flawless smiles, in my flourishing, vibrant garden,
In the fun, fancy days of fervor, when sweltry sun, never begged any pardons.

Flowers opened to fine, fragrant fanfare, in the fuchsia, famed days of flames,
When family flashed along familiar roads, en route past towns with no names.

I lived in the house of sudden stillness, gemmed green lulls of wind and song;
And nature was snapped at picture windows, where a colorful world thronged.

Shocking shades graced gardens of summer, along the sidewalks of my street,
Always awaiting scarlet, sunset serenade, and later, tomorrow's violet repeat.

Noiseless moon spilled necessary silver, when necklaced neighbors visited me,
In the steady neutral company of night blooms, missing orange sun, probably.

Sleepless sun mimed saffron tales, of many storied lives lived in just one day,
'Till along came a milky, mesmeric moon, fast stealing the purple show away.

The wanderer's tales of weariless wind, were of scents and sounds from afar;
Like uncontrolled laughter which carries, from a raspberry-rose door, left ajar.

I had begun to notice many natural mimes, and we had so much in common;
Like a rainbow's exclamation point, and green-gold butterfly, never forgotten!

Silken shadows suddenly scattered, seemed such evidence of scorching noon,
In the same way deep green hints at summer, and parties under cream moon.

Noted was the flock of dusky ravens, when suddenly soaring to turquoise sky,
Indicating trouble below or bad weather, like the years long love about to die.

Drooping flowers sent silent signals, that the danger of drought was nearing;
Like the echo in red-purple canyon, which only an exclusive few are hearing.

Flying colored leaves and chills, implied autumn, like gaudy clowns imply fun.
Endless signs, signals and mute alarms, accompany sparkling life in ruby sun!