THE ARTIST:

When poppies blush red upon the cheek of the land,

I know it has been painted by your old restless hand,

When the sun bestows its smile on the brow of the hill,

It has been sketched by your name with eloquent quill.

When tears of joy gush from the eyes of cold streams,

Wept by brush dipped in paint, kissing canvas & reams,

When the fingers of the breeze play with tresses of trees,

Colours of life are mixed & from paint tubes are squeezed.

When wavelets tickle to giggles the iced shoreline stones,

Upon your palette, you mix & meld their old veins & bones,

When the falcon is deftly daubed upon the mind of the sky,

You see him soaring in your soul before he reaches your eye.

When moonbeams tuck the fields into ebony starred beds,

The planets guiding your hand to what´s now in your head,

When the sky´s happiness is sobbed in the droplets of rain,

Inspiration floats, like snowflakes upon white waiting plains.

And when pretty rainbows roof the humble abodes of men,

There´s autumn gold’s in the wood & floral spring in the fen,

I then know, that your paint box is ajar & waiting once more,

And your hand daubs the entrance of heaven´s waiting door.