words: Anne Hills; music: Allen Power
© Raven Heart Music
From Anne’s album Points of View
My daughter and Vincent van Gogh
Are here for the national show.
The crowd gathers round us we’re waiting in line.
She’s anxious to see him, her hand is in mine.
She’s just read his letters, she’s going to be nine.
The Washington cherry trees blossom with snow,
Near my daughter and Vincent van Gogh.
The child and the man disappear,
Down hallways that lead far from here.
To a tangle of forest, an ocean of wheat,
Where there’s honey gold quinces and green chives to eat,
‘til the breezes of evening blow salty and sweet.
There’s a tumbling sky, there’s a world spinning slow,
For my daughter and Vincent van Gogh.
And I’m standing at a distance
Holding a bowl of potatoes,
Beneath bright shimmering poplars.
She’s making her way through the street
With his brown leather clogs on her feet.
She walks down to the boats resting on the wet sand.
She is gathering irises into her hand
As she’s watching the sunbeams dividing the land
For the reaper whose bending so gentle and low,
Near my daughter and Vincent van Gogh.
She sits down on his old wooden (the Night Cafe) chair
Breathing in she can taste the night air
By the dark cottage window where memories sing
Through vermillion and lilac and all that they bring
Reaching out in the twilight to touch everything
There is light in the dirt, and the wheatfield’s aglow
For my daughter and Vincent van Gogh