The Traveller

The Traveller

A resort or an oasis,

Wyndham was its name.

Like water in a desert,

Their greetings always came.

Then in my unit rested,

My eyes began to see,

A painter left a message,

It was just for me.

Waves and surf, that billows.

Flowers withered and very low,

The movement on the canvas

Time captured by the brush,

The painter told the story,

The weary need not rush.

And etched in all this beauty,

I found the word, relax.

I began to understand,

Rest was in the moment.

I had the word relax.

– Greg

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