Pastels and soft brushes repose in their drawers.
The easels now folded and stacked in their place.
Pencils, by color, stored neatly together,
All snuggled up with a bunch of art paper.
Oh, where is the artist whose thoughts make them sing?
Where is the artist whose hands make them live?
Where is the artist who paints soulful eyes,
Whose hand creates animals, flowers and more?
She…is…joyfully painting, painting away!
She is painting and painting and painting with words!
Using splashes of color straight out of her soul,
She daubs and she brushes with vowels and with verbs.
Words from God’s spirit, words from her heart,
All flow through her fingers and onto the keys.
Words finely crafted and beautifully shaped,
Esthetically pleasing to lips, eyes and ears.
Words struck with joy, entwine with the angst.
Words starkly truthful, nudge words hiding pain.
Words laced with magic or poignant with grief,
Her muse now made known, the logjam is free!
Oh, the clothes are unfolded, the garden has weeds.
The mop and the vacuum are begging her…please!
No matter, the dozens of chores to be done.
She’s painting away with a tappity tap.
Ever so blissfully,
Painting
And
Painting
And
Painting…
With words!
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