The Artist

By

Bonnie M. Wells


Down in the meadow where the wild grass grows,

By the bubbling brook....that gently flows

Grow the tall, tall tress of various kind...

Oak, Hickory, Walnut and the beautiful pine.

Everything sparkles with crystal dew,

As golden rays of sun come filtering through.

At first glance, no movement can be found

But, be very quiet .... just hang around.

Leaves whisper as a breeze descends on the land,

And like a gift of life from an artist's hand,

A touch of brown is the first to appear.

With dots of white.....it's a beautiful deer.

Slivers of red, orange and blue ... a swipe of yellow,

It's the birds, with a song so mellow.

A stroke of gray is the next to be found...

Why it's a rabbit... hopping around.

Now what's this, that I see?

The golden stripes of the honey bee.

A groundhog emerges without a sound,

From his castle...deep in the ground.

Hickory nuts fall with a soft clatter,

And out pops a squirrel, with a "who's there?" chatter.

The brook ripples with a flash of green,

As a bull frog leaps into the stream.

I slowly rise ... and with a misty eye,

To each I say ... a silent good-bye.

I've no place in this picture,

I thought .... feelings all a mixture.

I'd come out early this morning.

So I could be the first on the scene.

Ready and waiting with my gun,

To take a life ... just for fun.

Of food ... there was no need.

In the name of sport... was my greed.

Homeward bound ... with head bowed.

A glance at my gun ... "never again," I vowed.

If ever again I visited this land,

It would be with brush and canvas in hand.


Bonnie M. Wells

Starlight Inner-Prizes

Book # 1 - The Early Years

Book # 2 - The Teenage Trio

"The Artist" is part of The Early Years:

Midi Playing: Walk Of Life

This page updated/re-posted: January 2006 // February 2008 // BMW