A poem by Beverly Stock.
© Ernest Akayeu | Dreamstime.com
The lines drawn fine and neat,
That fill a canvas until complete.
And shades of colors pale or bold, Representing the mood of young or old.
Explain to me what’s at play,
By just the way art looks that day.
Seeing the artist's flair and stroke,
Feeling as if he or she just spoke.
Like the smile of a friend,
I hope this feeling never ends.
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