The Artist

If no man fall asunder

then let no man stand apart

the one who only had a fleeting glimpse

enjoys the subtle art

 

The paint and brush and easel stand

before the man who’s thinking

the finished piece, like artist’s hand

shakes before its sinking

 

Art – thy name is woman –

‘fifty shades of grey’

the passion of a suitor lost

should not be lost this way

 

Like a rope entangled

a life lived is like an hour

like the wild garden blooming

the plant – budding – brings a flower

 

Is it black and white – definitive

or is it made of colour

does exploration start at home

or stranger’s cottage, over yonder

 

Within the cottage stands a piece –

art no man had savoured

not ‘til artist, on his deathbed

was thy work in favour

 

When people come

they will not leave

like leaves on the ground

in Autumn

 

Oh, if only he

was here to see

the boat anchored

in his harbour

 

‘If only’ –

two words strong enough

to bring a storm

of force

 

Need not be lost

in frigid frost

stand up –

and hold the course.

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