My Dear Elizabeth
Had more great adventures this weekend. Saw so many beautiful
places, that have been left to their own elements. There was one place
that I went to that had so much history. It had been owned by a
flint-lock maker. Him and his family had moved into the town and even
named the town.
He was born in 1790 and died Feb. 1808. He was 38 years old. Small pox is what claimed his life, yet spared his wife and 10 children. It is really a sad story, even though his wife carried on and kept up the beautiful farm, losing her husband had to be a great loss to the family. Ten children are a lot to take care of.
I stopped by to ask who owned the house, I wanted to take pics of the place before it is gone. As usual, I wanted to just shoot the place and record its beauty and not steal a thing. My love for these places are to save and preserving her elegant beauty. They would not approve the shoot. I was heart-broken. Another beauty that is going to fade into a memory.
I envision what you look like, your inner beauty, a stairway on each side.
I picture Elizabeth, in the moonlight, down the stairs she glides.
The moonbeams are bouncing off of her lovely, soft , white skin.
Illuminating her body’s motion, as the long, stairway, she descends.
The windows open wide, allowing the. light to penetrate the blackness
Your statuette, like a Greek Goddess, moonbeams show your womanliness.
Her spirit will always linger here, she is the Mother of this house.
She walks the halls, through all the doors, quiet as a mouse.
I would love to feel her spirit, as I travel through these halls.
To here the silent whisper of the house, as to me, it calls.
So sad this is not to be, The inside I will not be able to see.
But in my dreams, as the long, stairway I climb, I become thee.
I am you, my sweet, dear, Elizabeth if only in the hallows of my dreams. @Tammy Sullivan 2015
He was born in 1790 and died Feb. 1808. He was 38 years old. Small pox is what claimed his life, yet spared his wife and 10 children. It is really a sad story, even though his wife carried on and kept up the beautiful farm, losing her husband had to be a great loss to the family. Ten children are a lot to take care of.
I stopped by to ask who owned the house, I wanted to take pics of the place before it is gone. As usual, I wanted to just shoot the place and record its beauty and not steal a thing. My love for these places are to save and preserving her elegant beauty. They would not approve the shoot. I was heart-broken. Another beauty that is going to fade into a memory.
I envision what you look like, your inner beauty, a stairway on each side.
I picture Elizabeth, in the moonlight, down the stairs she glides.
The moonbeams are bouncing off of her lovely, soft , white skin.
Illuminating her body’s motion, as the long, stairway, she descends.
The windows open wide, allowing the. light to penetrate the blackness
Your statuette, like a Greek Goddess, moonbeams show your womanliness.
Her spirit will always linger here, she is the Mother of this house.
She walks the halls, through all the doors, quiet as a mouse.
I would love to feel her spirit, as I travel through these halls.
To here the silent whisper of the house, as to me, it calls.
So sad this is not to be, The inside I will not be able to see.
But in my dreams, as the long, stairway I climb, I become thee.
I am you, my sweet, dear, Elizabeth if only in the hallows of my dreams. @Tammy Sullivan 2015
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