The Masterpiece

If we were the things we loved, then... I would be the shine in puppies eyes Or a cuddled kitten's purr, I would be a great novel or poem Or, the smell of grandmother's house. I would be the autumn sun upon my face And the smell of springtime blossoms too, I would be an infants cackling laughter And, his mother's ample breast. I would be the passion in a rutting Buck And the pining of the whippoorwill's call, Or the chipmunk that dashes across my yard And, the morning hawk that catches him! I would be the scent before an evening shower And the distant rumble of a storm, Or a sea shore on a morning's walk And, a painted evening prairie sky. I would be a swirling murmur of starlings And the evening chant of tree frogs, I would be the smell of my mother's cooking And, the sound of my children's laughter. If we were the things we loved Then I would be all of these, and more But I'm not, instead I'm just me They're the brushstrokes of the masterpiece... And I, but the eager canvas. Timothy I. Brumley