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.
Midi: Gold
By cherryk
© 2011 cherryk
(All rights reserved)
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