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
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