Coyote and his friends walked to a pond
But found Frog and his clan now living there.
“This pond is small for all of us, ” Frog said.
“ Find water of your own. We cannot share.”
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Riding home, Coyote saw a man dressed all in black
Who was holding a large bag and sitting on a stone
Beside the trail. Drawing closer, he could see
The face was a skull, the rest of him just bones.
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How much do artists know, truly and deeply know?
Is their understanding of the eye and the hand,
or does it spring from the heart or head?
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I fall upon the thorns of life, I bleed!
Bewailed the anguished poet.
Then be less clumbsey, said the weed.
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