She Paints Poem by Randy McClave

She paints beautiful lines that I don't yet understand
As she holds a brush in her tender hand,
A paint stroke here, and a splash over there
All I can do is in a wonderment is to watch and stare.
On her palette is every known color of the rainbow
As seemingly her inspiration begins to flow,
And as I angle my head to the left and then to the right
Suddenly, I see and I feel a great delight.
Now upon my hand I placed my chin
Now with an excitement I give a sigh and then a grin,
I now see and I understand what she has painted
With a true artist, I am now spiritually acquainted.
I now understand why every line on the canvas is used
And why the painted colors must all be fused,
And why over there is a singular stroke
Now my imagination has finally awoke.
I have watched as she had truly created
My soul is now deeply pleased and elated,
Now I have a very pleased and a soaring heart
I had watched the birth, the creation of true art.
She's not the type of painter to paint a house
Or to paint the makeup on the face of someone's spouse,
She's the type of painter that can paint a wink
She painted a true masterpiece, to cause everyone to think.

Randy L. McClave