Painter Of Words Poem by William E. Dickinson

My easel is a word, a phrase
My pen is color blue
The brush applies a tinge, or accents
Beyond a portiere's, a clue A palate wide e're consummate
It strangles neither time nor space
Wide as imagination's vast
To compliment line with grace Idea, a drop of color
It splashes where it may
Widening as it spreads
From instant to a day And, the canvas in varied likeness
To a person, scene, or space
Inanimate of the painters slash
Imagination in a race