A TRUE ARTIST

 

In the burning hot sun, he stood painting

Least bothered about the swirling hot wind

Screaming traffic passed around he cared not

He painted lost in his own world deeply

So carefully he painted each small twig

Leaf with precision like a diamond cutting

Flowers he shaded with colours so bright

Nature too will shy away from her creation

For some time he painted straining his neck

Other times, he went on his knees to draw

Hardly thinking about his pain, physical strain

Enjoying the painful work, he went on and on

In future, many men will cross his paintings

But no one will waste, a single second to look

Though he was painting only the grilled gate

 Absorbed, dedicated he did, as he was an Artist