In the quiet of the gallery\'s hall,
Where whispers echo off the walls,
Art waits in frames, on pedestals tall,
To speak to hearts, to enthrall.
Colors dance in a vibrant array,
Brushstrokes tell tales, in their own way,
Sculptures stand, in timeless display,
Each piece a story, without delay.
In the artist\'s hand, magic is found,
Creating beauty, from sight to sound,
A world of wonder, to astound,
In every stroke, truth is crowned.
Art speaks of joy, of love, of pain,
It captures moments, like gentle rain,
Through its lens, we can explain,
The depth of life, its sweet refrain.
So let us cherish, this gift divine,
For in art\'s embrace, we truly shine,
A mirror to our souls, a sacred sign,
Of all that\'s human, and so sublime.