The Artist

Such words, how came you by them? Such poetic beauty, so evocative are they. I hear music when upon them I gaze, I see images, I hear the voice, the cry. Such a collection of paint, you make your portraits live! I long for such talent, I stand in awe. Yet, what manner of person are you? I hear you speak and am dismayed. How can the vulgar and holy abide as one? For such talent is a good gift from God above. We live with the quandary, both sweet and sour, I cannot make you my idol. Ah! Now I know, I must revere the giver, not you.