The Art of Love
I long for the skill of an artist,
To paint like the great Raphael,
To show as would Michaelangelo,
A beauty that words cannot tell.
I watch as she bends over her infant
With a love too great to contain,
For a child more dependant and helpless
Than when in her womb it had lain.
She could have posed for the Madonna,
Her profile as pure as a saint's.
This utter devotion she has to this child,
Can't be shown by canvass and paints.
I must strive with inadequate words
To portray this mother and child,
To show beauty so sweet and ethereal,
The world, as I am, is beguiled.
Can a love like this is be captured
In a painting or in words written down?
This purest passion ever created
Is what makes the world go around.
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