Once there was a lonely little cowboy
Sitting in his room and feeling no joy,
For he was also a painter who yearned
To create pictures, when one day he learned
It was essential to travel abroad
To behold all the paintings he adored.
It was Florence, he was told, is the place
Where he’d find and encounter face to face
Those pictures he’d seen solely in photos
And in their real presence they would disclose.
Their dark secrets and awesome mysteries,
Their craft and their art and their histories.
However, he’d not been there all that long
When he felt there was something very wrong -
Because he felt so sad and so alone
He did something you and I couldn’t condone:
He stole a beautiful purple Vespa
Was it a cry for help and a gesture?
On this, he escaped to Venezia
Pursued by the local Polizia.
Harried and hunted, he kept up morale
By cleverly crossing the grand canal.
And daringly driving up and down stairs
And tearing through ancient cloisters and squares.
At last, he took refuge in some paintings,
Where he hid himself away and found things
In pictures which were so subtly sublime,
He began to feel that, if given time,
He could create his own secret landscape
And in it make a clandestine escape.
Which he did and then he fled and he flew
Home on his stolen Vespa and he knew
Now he could be a very good artist
Perhaps neither the best nor the smartest
But he would always have the company
Of his artist-teachers from Tuscany
And he would never again be alone
For he’d learn by his mistakes and he’d grown.
-
Author:
Robert Tilleard (
Offline) - Published: May 1st, 2022 10:15
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 6
Offline)
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