She Paints

She paints beautiful lines that I don't yet understand As she holds a brush in her tender hand, A paint stroke here, and a splash over there All I can do is in a wonderment is to watch and stare. On her palette is every known color of the rainbow As seemingly her inspiration begins to flow, And as I angle my head to the left and then to the right Suddenly, I see and I feel a great delight. Now upon my hand I placed my chin Now with an excitement I give a sigh and then a grin, I now see and I understand what she has painted With a true artist, I am now spiritually acquainted. I now understand why every line on the canvas is used And why the painted colors must all be fused, And why over there is a singular stroke Now my imagination has finally awoke. I have watched as she had truly created My soul is now deeply pleased and elated, Now I have a very pleased and a soaring heart I had watched the birth, the creation of true art. She's not the type of painter to paint a house Or to paint the makeup on the face of someone's spouse, She's the type of painter that can paint a wink She painted a true masterpiece, to cause everyone to think. Randy L. McClave