The Creative Painter
The painter gets up early sometimes a bit late
Depending on his mood
Dark clouds when rain is in the air
And sometimes storm clouds that give
Impression of moving.
The painter likes nothing better than
Painting the sky blue
And make bands of white silk like clouds
The sun is easy to paint but if it gets too hot
He blocks the sunray some with cerulean
Filter to protect bathers’ delicate skin.
A saw him up a tall ladder once, a bit unsteady
No doubt after a few beers
He was painting the new moon a sliver of silver
Strewing paint around with his big brush
And it was a starlit night.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
painting the sky blue, thanks, I like it.