Three Putti And A Cake
OIl on Linen
44x29"
 
Three Putti and a Cake
 
Three putti in the garden stood,
Their hands as light as air—
Upon a stone of marble white
A cake beyond compare.
 
Its golden crust was soft with sun,
Its cream as pale as day,
And sugar roses crowned its form
In bright and sweet array.
 
Parrot tulips, bold and proud,
With ragged, silken lips,
Bent low to glimpse the sugared round
Between the cherubs’ sips.
 
One plucked a blossom from its stem
And pressed it to his chest,
Another, laughing, swirled his hand
Through cream—his fingers blessed.
 
The third, with solemn, steady gaze,
Did lift a silver knife,
And with a whisper through the crust
Unraveled cake—and life.
 
The tulips shivered, shadows swayed,
As petals brushed the ground,
The songbirds wove a fleeting tune—
A hush, a hollow sound.
 
The putti ate, the garden watched,
The world grew soft and bright,
As sunlight laced through petaled hands
And melted into night.
 
The golden-haired young girl drew near,
Her eyes both wide and blue,
She traced the crumbs, the empty plate,
And knew what time must do.
 
The putti laughed, their voices light,
Yet shadows lingered near—
For sweets dissolve upon the tongue
As moments disappear.
 
And though the tulips dance in red,
Their frills as bright as flame,
The cake is gone, the feast is done—
Yet echoes still remain.
 
For in the hush of garden air,
Where petals fall and fade,
The putti’s laughter, soft and sweet,
Still lingers in the shade.