The Drawing

“The Drawing” The lines set rapidly upon the page In a rush previously unimaginable to My wrist. Possibly quadrupling my pulse. A scratching. I even hear the nib crosses Mark the masses of form and shadows, Beginning to execute A design: the idea goes forth like A burst artery, like a poem Of its own flow, it seems, taking on life. I may even think of other things, yet watch As the moves of the draining of the ink continue, Although my eyes do seem to command and Direct what is drawn of the seen and to-be-seen — A sensing sight from a centered inspiration — That my wrist and fingers try to speak.. Oh, look! Isn’t THAT amazing! How The strokes on the lush, forested face of A mountain are calling for the same, very Same course as drawing The feathers of bird wings! I see A soft meditation upon the Lord as my wrist Continues...drawing the wings of a mountain! **********. ************. ********** Oh, thanks be to God! Oh, glorious is his poetry! C) sally Young Eslinger 8/220...written in love The Lord brings the golden tears