Without easel or oil she paints
The sunsets in the evening sky
The sunrise of the early dawn
And moods and phases of the moon
Sans chisel and hammer she carves
The cliffs, the mountains buttes and crags
Her tools, the water, wind and waves
She gouges out the gorges and caves
The grandest of spectacles
For us to see, and touch and hear
The whole world is her gallery
Can other artist greater be
Failure to appreciate her arts
Is inadequacy in sight
And total dullness of the mind
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Her brushes are the sun and wind...Loved this line, beautifully sketched...Thanks...a 10