Under The Painting Tree Poem by Quinn Graw

I paint verse with my pen-brush
here there is no rush
to create my world of words.
But on the weathered work table
under the painting tree
rocks are found on the acreage farm
now decorated to be rock art.
As weak as my skills are
developing in a new and broader way
a new part of me grows
although the impatience for improvement
divides my soul.
Just a beginner
never will be an art winner.
Paint by choice
color for pleasure
by pictures and words galore.
It all began
under the painting tree.