The artist

​​​​​​​There is no artist quite so fine
As one who paints with brush devine 

With every stroke they mould and shape

With every flick they animate 

Imagination knows no bounds

From empty easle life astounds

Us mortal talentless, dull and mild

We can't compare to wonders wild 
 

Their rivers round and smooth the stones

Who lie on bed and bank

Their golden skies ignite the clouds

And warm the velvet flank 

Of Stag who proud and regal stands

So true In form and colour

A stroke of brown, a white highlight 

An image like no other.

Such talent that can conjure life 

With mere pencil, brush and paint

Must surely be From Heaven sent

To share this gift so great!