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