The Poet
The black moving night a covering shawl
Will circle the world ahead of the dawn
While we underneath are always in awe
Of changes in the light we look upon
Beautiful colors from gradual change
They enter the eye of the artist's mind
As pages are filled, descriptions exchanged
The written word leaves pictures to remind
The hand of the heart holding flowing quills
To describe and lay across the pages
And words from artists could never fulfill
Changing skies they have seen through the ages
A bow to the artist who paints the sky
And poets, for words they write in reply
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