Rainbow And Creation Poem by douglas lewis

I miss the watchman's cottage,
That splash of blue
With eyes of orange,
A face the colour of a rainbow.
I miss the folk art
That surged and spilled
Across the yard,
Each piece in mimic to the sea.
I miss the outhouse rolled
In drapes of cloth and armour.
I never met the watchman
Nor the artist nor their friend.
I never sipped their wine
As they created over dinner.
But each time I stepped
Into the yard
I marveled at something special.
The guts and glory
Of a thought,
That physically appeared.