Portrait of a Paintbrush
He’s kind of shy and not been used
For painting colors in bright hues,
But in his mind, he has a thought
A flow’ry glory, to be sought.
Pale purple daisies in his scene,
Soft billowy flanks with blades of green.
A weathered post and split rail fence
Smeared rusty brown for recompense.
The shy paintbrush, with bristles soft,
Begins to paint, while breezes waft,
An azure blue and silver sky,
Pale daisy sprays, near mountains high.
Green grasses wave in fields with pride
By goldenrods, perched on the side.
There’s baby’s breath that’s cast amidst
Wildflower fields the sun has kissed.
More daisies line a graveled road
Aclad with hues, purple and gold.
A barn, white house, and split rail fence
Are center stage, with daisies dense.
Sweet lilacs too, make a debut
With tulips, red, but just a few.
A lovely, brilliant sight to see
Alight in vibrant imagery.
But near a spray, leaned on the rail
A paintbrush, dressed in purples pale.
His handle, plum and dotted white
With bristles worn, supple and lithe.
The artist, in his masterpiece
Leaned on the rail in perfect peace.
His portrait splashed for all to see,
In lavender divinity.
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