The Painter

                                              

                                                                The Painter
                                                   With feathery brush in hand
                                                   The painter began his masterpiece,
                                                   On a canvas of dark he painted light,
                                                   He paints a sky blue and clouds bright.

                                                   His brush slides neatly, smoothly,
                                                   Creating the green, rolling hillside,
                                                   Flowers and trees sprout from beneath his
                                                   Gentle strokes.

                                                   Leaves of flaming color decorate these trees, 
                                                   Reds, oranges, gold all glitter,
                                                   In effortless swipes he brought birds to the skies
                                                   And rushing rivers to flow.

                                                   With a first sunset his colors grew extravagant,
                                                   And with the first night he placed stars sparkling,
                                                   Painstakingly working every detail,
                                                   Perfection, beauty, magnificence.

                                                   When finally he had finished,
                                                   He stepped back looking upon it all
                                                   And he smiled.

                                                                                         E.J. Norris