It Hangs In My Office
It hangs in my office in a plain wooden frame
It’s a painting of a painting
Created by an artist who knew no fame
But whose memory is never fainting.
A replication of a farming landscape
Vincent Van Gogh had first envisioned
Recreated by my talented brother
With a forgery’s fine precision.
One Christmas past, many years ago
My name he picked for a present to give
By then the AIDS had settled in
And he didn’t have long yet to live.
He passed before the day arrived
But when the presents were given
All my siblings had for me a surprise
And around this painting they put a ribbon.
“Jimmy felt bad he picked your name
Then couldn’t buy you a gift
So we thought you’d like this in exchange
And hope it gives you a lift.”
It hangs in my office in a plain wooden frame
It’s a painting of a painting
Created by an artist who knew no fame
But whose memory is never fainting.
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