Walking the streets, looking for lines…
Not those on the roads, but those in our minds…
They both are short living, I must find them now.
My senses-an arrow, my muscles – a bow.
A young boy is flying a kite high in the sky.
His face – happiness, his eyes flashing lights.
Swinging the cords in his confident hands,
Little did he know about Icarus plight…
A little girl is doing her first steps alone,
The mother beaming pride, mimic steps well known,
Time after time, they will do this again,
Until the youngster makes her own gain!
An artist mounts fresh canvas on his easel,
Ready to catch this landscape medieval,
Spread are paints and pencils around him,
Inspiration is brewing, flowing over the brim.
…I am grateful for the gift I got from nothing,
My lines are stored, alive my thoughts are coming,
Stories are about to be born,