The wind in the trees-
Kunst.
The breath of God rustling the sweet morning grass.
The songs of the birds-
Kunst.
The sweet melodies that angels sing.
The colors of newly bloomed flowers-
Kunst.
Handpainted, each one, by the Father Himself.
Art all around us-
Kunst.
Never opening our eyes to the true beauty of the world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I noticed that you opened this poem of art with something thay we cannot see. Too often we think of art as those things we can see. You do mention 'songs' which involves hearing. And your last line is interesting. We do miss a lot of art by not 'opening' our eyes, but how much art of the kind that we do not have to see do we also miss? And how little do we know of all of those artists whose art we do appreciate? Knowing more about the artist does help, I think, appreciate his/her work more. One poet said that poetry is the highest art form of all. How nice it is to be a poet. We are the co-creators of Kunst.