Keep silent now dear one,
strum the strings of your imagination,
and just feel…
For what awaits us is not mortally minded,
but secret itself.
Wait! Let this wind calm,
and these trees still…
Ah, there it is.
Just beside the mountains called 'Fire',
A whisper's distance from a steady little waterfall,
Shaded by just a touch of trees going higher,
By the corner, where the grass looks healthier and life-filled…
The rains are never troublesome here, for these parts are fine
Rain descends like a single tear and blesses its environs.
Look with all the strength of your eyes,
an enchanted homestead of an artist benign.

The echo of the falling water sings a mild tune to the mountains
Then the mountains seem to play a certain slow violin
To create an opera of peace…serenity…
Just one bird is permitted to sing in a certain tree called 'Find and Dine'
I am not sure of its nature but listen…it sings now
Like an angel in love, it chants with heavenly compassion.

No wind risks a touch on these parts. Just silent breeze as breath
The sky is ever faithful in its beauty, telling gossips of mystery to the earth
Just gaze with awe at this scene…
The only flaw, considered by many that grace has led to behold and have seen
'T's that sculpture of an angel, all but the face, which mimics a tiger's
…Whispers have it that such an image dwells in spirit within this focus

Oh, if fate would be so compassionate as to give you just a glimpse
Through one window…just one window
Be sure to chose that window by the stream… the one the waterfall disturbs
The window decorated by reflections of nature's halo
And if you would look gently through the glass
Allow me to unravel what you would see…

A chandelier of candles hanging to nearly kiss the pearl floor
Dance on the forlorn drops of vin de rouge in crystal glass
Midnight has not perceived moon shadows compared to the painting by the wine
For a portrait of a dame brings mythical incantations to the lips of an innocent speculator Oh, if Christ does permit you to view her eyes…
Do not look too long…it is too beautiful!
That image painted with the softest strokes,
-if you can not tell
Is just one of the wonders of this artist, Raphael.

Raphael's studio blazes with the magic of creativity
Winds of loneliness does not harm this maestro in his mystic studio
Psst… Word has it that the angels of light themselves, keep his heart in fashion
But do not pray on it for yourself.
They will tell him that you have been here.

Oh, hopeful destiny… let it be that you are the one chosen to gaze through this glass
A few free and happy sparrows linger just beside the stairs… a delight to this artist
They prey on all the bugs.
But of more importance… they prey on evil thoughts!
These come in clouds to haunt this artist benign
Oh, unchained and joyous sparrows…
And those stairs are made of the finest and purest bronze
If you let your eyes sway just a little to the shadows
There…there…don't look in your mind!
It is another painting
Of an aged man of sagely presence
Held high by the arms of the cherubim
And those holy wings of the cupids
The childlike angels carry him admist clouds
Levitated by mystic creatures with mightier mystic wings
There is one with a face of a calm lion,
another of a courageous horse, another…
Wait… did I already sing the song of the childlike angels?
Perhaps not.
A brief but repetitive song that utters;
If you search for us, oh wicked souls
You will find us between the clouds
Inside the silver lining
Where we dance to the rhythm of joy…
And so on and so forth goes their angel lyrics

Raphael's niche of painting lies just below the shadow of another sculpture
This one seems to be of just flowers from every view
And being blessed by the most radiant light in the studio
Is a smooth chair of ruby love…purely exquisite in all manner of design!
On seldom-fine days, an expensive dame would settle in that chair
To be examined, scrutinize, ituitized,
seen through and painted by Raphael
By night, just the spirits send a vision of art.
And in that trance, he does also paint…

But in all the romance of this studio,
He does not have a lover…

If you would come by midnight to that very window,
just by the fall tormented stream
You are certain to gaze with unexplained awe at the artist at work.
There was one (some say a widow)
Who sold her heart, just to peer through that same window
She said when all was silent that night
She saw angels in light…three…they helped Raphael paint
But certainly, no one believes but I.

In Raphael's studio you would feel naturally fine
For the mere presence of him is poetry divine.
I am not sure what he does this moment we speak
Perhaps between a dream…

Did I mention the pure lake?
Oh, that lake of purity
It lies within the studio's pearls
There he washes the paint from his overworked brush.
But the magic is that the lake neither stains nor discolors!
Ever pure, like it's saintly master.

But all this is only if an angel would give you the wine of enchantment
For so few have been blessed to peer through that window
Fate herself chooses…

…Let us come away now, dear one
The wind has begun to betray us
And I fear the sculpture by the fall awakens…