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.