Canvas is hung....
on motley sky....
rivens of wind....
itching the canvas....
painter is standing on
Archemedies's lever fulcrum....
where to stand and what to paint....
my dear lady confused with sombre eyes....
darkness of soul and absurdity of life....
making every paint pale and white....
hold the brush and make the strokes....
every form will be alpine obscure....
make the border of infinite patient....
no form...no shape....
life's sketch is ready for yep....! ! !
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