The Great Artist

When he walks the city streets,
In the days, and the nights,
Oh, how his mind wanders.

When he lays his head back,
Arms folded, holding it.
With eyes wide open,

He’s pondering.

Even when grabbing forty winks,
He never fails to dream.

They say he’s just a lazy wannabe artist.
But no one sees he’s busy all the time.
Amassing information for a masterpiece.

Which can only be mastered by time. ©
Written by UnControlled Pen

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