My art is in my head, instead of on the page,
Perhaps, just like my eyesight - it diminishes with age.
I still have imagination; it can take me anywhere,
Surfing down a waterfall, or flying in the air.
I could go to some classes. A beginner's course would do,
Just to get me going, to re-energise, renew!
I don't want to be famous, or make money from it all,
My gallery could be your house, my art on every wall.
Co-ordinating decor - That would have no place,
Not with all my paintings, occupying space.
A nice, bright mix of colours, to adorn your sitting room,
Purple skies and bright red hills, above your head would loom.
If you were very lucky, you'd have sculptures pink and blue,
And know that everyone was made - especially for you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem