She's A Painter

What time was it?

I don’t remember.

It was July, August, or maybe September.

I was a visitor in the Gallery of The Revered Nature,

She’s a painter, she’s an artist of the highest stature.

To paint on, she chose the canvas of Mother Earth,

The canvas was lifeless, the canvas was inanimate,

Until she infused it with life, until she gave birth.

She gave birth to the Giant trunks, to the lofty trees,

To the roots, the stems, to their scaly leaves.

Her palette was filled with the most exotic hues and shades,

She adopted The Emerald Green, The Earthly Brown, and some misty white fades.

Her strokes were gentle, her strokes were so fine,

She rendered the scene with a post Rain-shower shine.

I was left speechless, I was left spellbound,

By the sparkling silence, by the quiet sound,

To her narrow alleys, to her Royal Galleries,

I’d come back around and around and around.