Amber painting

This old, shabby house in the middle of nowhere

Was visited once by me and my au pair

We came over to visit old painter

And old man who was once a retainer

House was filled with fine items of art

From sculptures that fiddle with heart

To the paintings of that old-old fart

Which sometimes I couldn't compart

Yet one piece struck me in a great awe

Hung above the old fire gate

It was large sort of painting of field

One so dazzling, it greatly appealed

"That's the piece I collected in France

It was shipped there from heck knows what parts

Prior owners were not much disclosed,

Yet the legend with painting opposed"

Old man sat in his leather chair

And ran fingers through his thinning hair

He looked up at the painting in question

And continued without a suggestion

"It's been told that this field is a garden

Somewhere high and away from all eyes

And that human once stumbled and pondered

How he got to that beautiful sight

He met fairies that lived in the flowers

And saw moon much reflected in eyes

He was blinded and punished for seeing

What was place for the fae to baptize

He was kicked from the garden of magic

Barely making to village alive

And his family, relatives - panicked

For the man surely lost both his eyes

Yet with years something sinister happened

This man stumbled in garden again

He was killed, with his bones being tumbled

And returned to the village again

Bones became something other, quite see-through

Partly clouded and quite like the sun

Yellow, orange, green tones of the brand new

Something odd that remained from what's done

His son hid and crushed bones of the father

Using that to create what was seen

From the stories once told of the matter

To produce wholesome picture on screen

Work had lasted for years and eventually

Poor son had made the painting of virtually

Every detail described by his father

As if felt like his life goal - life matter

So this picture is made of the bones

Of the man who once walked the stones

And with glistening shine of the amber

His body - fine art in the slumber."

Tale was told and the business had finished

We went back to our car

Painter asked, that if all is diminished,

We'd take painting along for new part

Years had gone and the news were upon us

Painter died and had left us a piece

Once delivered, the painting come to us

But became haunted, charming caprice

Once it hung in the study and stayed there

Feeling eerie, cold presence was felt

Painting growled and moaned as it were there

And the curse we accepted was dealt