Rhaphsody Of Color Poem by Elliott Rosenberg

Three pots and a barrel of paint,
Have deliriously met upon a canvas,
The artist hands fertilize colors that root themselves to the wooden palette.

Fierce winds polinate the soil giving forth flowers,
for the grounds tide the moon has risen,
sprouting the dead of forest.

Mayflowers blossom like spring truffles under shadows of evergreen,
For the pine needles that fall from heaven,
Pencils are in the hands of the creator.

And so the pigments of our desire have found home settled in dreams,
Bringing to life the dormant rain that harbours the prizm of light.