Picture From Van Gogh (The Weaver) Poem by Raymond Farrell

Those meticulous small brush strokes
and somber tones
faithfully combine
to speak the truth
and give dignity to men
unknown to kings and queens
despised wretches
hidden
in cold barren cottages
resisting the industrial machine
clinging to poverty and anonymity
morning to evening
clattering those sticks
spellbound
arms hands finger
hips knees feet
moving back and forth
somnambulantly they weave
while the man sits
oblivious to the cold machine
ugly colossal black thing
crude unthinking
yet skilfully guided
by gnarled calloused hands
to create works of art
the absent-minded gaze
welds the dark brown face
to the loom
rhythmically its ribs clatter
clatter clatter
nothing is said
the quest feels eternal.