I was a prolific and enthusiastic artist, like a sparkling jewel rife with colors,
Taking joy from nature themes and others, as in childhood joys of summers.
I painted active people and wilder places, houses, sunsets and exotic birds,
And I was enamored of the old saying, 'A picture is worth a thousand words.'
But, ofttimes I wondered, 'What if pictures could truly tell their own story?'
Would they captivate the hearts of many, like the sun going down in glory?
Still, to fill a violet, crowded canvas, with a flock of redbirds frozen in flight,
Caused my excited heart to beat faster, and thrilled my world with delight.
I was fortunate to have many friends, and my family adored my paintings,
As autumn attracts many to its jade wood, for its languid, colors fainting!
I derived much inspiration for my artistry, from my private, walled garden,
As golden, treasured sunrise, inspires precious songs of the purple martin.
I captured laughter in the sunset, and immense, frothy waterfalls flowing,
And butterflies dancing summer evenings, when pearl moon was showing.
I painted naked spring trees budding-the beautiful world waking up again,
And the star encrusted Milky Way, and the majestic Blue Ridge Mountains.
It was luscious, full moon summer, and jasmine days had grown very long,
Like the long array of summer rhapsodies, owned by the bluebird throng.
Fleecy clouds wandered endlessly, changing their colors like the erratic sun,
Alternately pink and ruby, purple and mauve, orange and cream, or lemon.
One evening just before bedtime, I sat looking at a newly finished painting,
When rapidly my vision zoomed in on a spot, as if it were explaining things.
My field of vision steadily got larger, 'till it comprised the previously unseen,
And my magnified canvas showed, a butterfly meadow, far beyond a stream.
They were red and yellow, orange and pink, in a wilderness past the canvas.
Gone was the lakeside I had painted, for I'd zoomed far beyond the surface!
This fantastic experience was repeated, in several more of my works of art,
Like the frenzied, repeated drum beating, of the lovestruck, romantic heart.
Though I adored the beauty scenes I'd painted, my visions were lovelier still,
Like the silver scattering moon, when it's hiding, in mists beyond green hills.
And after I'd observed in rapt fascination, hidden beauty in the sable night,
I slipped off into pleasant, golden dreams, in the hour of twinkling starlight.
I dreamed of enticing splendors, waiting just around the sun dappled bend,
And of wonders at blurred edges of my vision, like rose petals on the wind!
I dreamt of a world rich in numberless glories, far too many to be recreated,
Like dreamy time that goes on endlessly, even though it is somewhat dated.
My pictures had spoken rich volumes, like a striking biography of the wind,
Which seems to visit every place at once, in a cool journey without an end.
I awakened in soft, magenta dawn, with a whole new, faceted perspective,
And I'd never again lack inspiration, as God's hand has been very effective!