Much splendor has this earthen realm, her timeless grandeur she reveals,
Eternal as the endless sea, or passing like a soft caress.
ĎTis the artist that will seize this truth, and adds to it just what he feels,
Bound by instinct to this task, he naturally can do no less.
To perceive the beauty in our lives, and capture it before itís gone,
This is the artistís daily task, that hinders him into the night,
The longing in a woman's glance, the fragile fleeting light of dawn,
Are what his gaping senses grasp, and tussle at his minds delight.
To extract exciting brilliance from the barren and the base,
This is the work the artist does, with vision, sweat and skill,
He will carve a slice of splendor from a dark and empty place,
With only his imagination and the force of his own will.
For it is the artistís burden to conceive and to create,
To see where beauty could be, and to craft with his own hand,
To paint upon each canvas and to carve upon each slate,
To cast far his dreams of wonder and to see where they may land.
The compensation that the artist gets, to many must seem nil,
His work routinely unrewarded, put upon a lonely shelf,
Yet he continues in his laborsÖcontent, steadfast and still,
For the true reward an artist gets comes from within himself.
†††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††† © John Greenwood 2007