I listened through the static
To the old master
Singing his hymns
Prayers to his lord
Prayers to his ladies
And he painted our sins
For all the world to know
With brush-strokes fine and sure
With lessons learned long and hard
And he did it with style
As he mostly always had
There was darkness in his words
Much light too
I heard it through the static
Heard it black and white and blue
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem