Friday, November 4, 2011

A painter's painting

A painter, wrinkled and tired
Sighed a breathe of triumph-
“It’s the canvass that I’d ever brush up”
And a time that’ll ne’er come-
Fall passing to a naked tree
wearing the leaves amongst
the dancing flowers to the
joyful song of spring breeze
‘Tis captured at the will of strokes
And history shall remain the captive
On a canvass that’ll echo through ages.

Nature ruins and withers
But at its own spirit
Where the beauty that ensnared time
Shall wrinkle and fade
But at the caress of painter’s brush
Beauty shall always be celebrated.

For a picture with thousand words
A poet has retired to a painter.

1 comment:

  1. and lovers are painter right...its in their heart that they paint..