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The Ultimate Artist
 


An artist took His favourite brush
to paint a perfect summer morn;
swirling, drenched each strand with gold
and thus this perfect day was born.


He stroked fondly the horizon,
flicked some on each cotton cloud;
such a drenching clouds were given,
drips fell where they weren't allowed.


Golden beams split clouds asunder,
bathing hills and plains to shine;
touched the hearts of humans passing,
thank the Lord some fell on mine!


Golden hearts are prone to smiling,
smiles contagious, transform faces;
favourite brush of well-known artist
spread like wild-fire, strangest places.



By cherryk

© 2018 cherryk (All rights reserved)

 

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This Poem is part of a Challenge: - Tuning Up (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: - Tuning Up (challenge has been closed)


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