With a backdrop of Shakespeare’s 73 sonnet,
we illustrate the death of innocence and
celebrate the birth of wisdom.
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or non, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against they cold
Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds
sing…
Consumed with that which it was nourish’d by.
This thou perceives, which makes thy love more
strong.
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
Original mixed media on canvas; 48x36