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When a Painting was Born
When a Painting was Born
A weary paintbrush,
Within a dexterous hand,
Flew up in the air,
As painting was born.
Walking on air they climbed,
The state of victory,
As this was that beautiful dawn,
When the outcome of their master's imagination,
A painting was born.
The canvas which was once,
Like a firmament, without birds
Now filled up.
With a rainbow of innumerable beauty,
trong>Leaving the viewer captivated, with no words.
Frozen hues,
And molten blues,
Unluckily saw from the glowing tiles,
How their lost opportunity stood in the sun's spotlight,
Declaring and announcing,
About its beauty above miles.
The sun too stood proudly,
Gratified,
As it was when its first light shone,
That this alluring, aesthetic
The painting was born.
