White tents flapping in the wind,
audience claps to sounds of violins.
Air carries chatter across green grass,
children playfully run and laugh.
Inside tents artists strive
with crafts they've brought to life,
as scudding clouds momentarily hide
that sun which eternally shines.
Art emerges in wood and stone
in paint or pots or cloth that's wove
and there appears His smile
as the artists seeming labour all the while.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lovely picture you have artistically painted here David, I can see them all busily at work. Love and hugs Ernestine XXX