Like all the “greats”,
A writer writes,
The painter paints a scene in time,
An actor memorizes lines
To use his craft upon a stage.
The sculptor chips away debris,
Reveals at last the prize below
That only he can see within a block of stone,
A singer’s voice brings forth the beauty
Hidden in the sea of sound.
And we call them artists, all.
But surely they are not the only ones to have the gift,
An inspiration from the hand of God,
For “art” comes only from the heart,
A precious love,
And not beyond the realm of common man;
Or common souls.
Because the man who works so hard,
To paint a house,
To pound a nail,
To drive a truck,
Or teach a class,
And all the moms who give their all to make
The empty house a home.
They too know of art,
It simply comes from that special place,
So very deep inside,
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