The Painting
A blank canvas, A empty page
A troubled soul, seasoned with age
A life of mistakes, Filled with regret
With Scars on his heart, he can never forget
He caresses the oils with a lover’s touch.
And with great care he strokes the brush.
The Colours are light and soft like cotton.
A vision of the past never forgotten.
An angel with silvery wings spread wide.
She carries an infant close to her side.
Over clouds and the world of man.
The angel did fly with child in hand.
Off in the distance you can see that pearly gate.
Then the painter grabs one last colour from his plate.
With the golden colour he pants a single band.
On the ring finger of the angels left hand.
Its his wife and daughter meeting the lord on high.
And he prays to see them again when he dies.
Copyright © Carl Rankin | Year Posted 2017
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