A day begins for the humble artist.
Art will not create itself!
So much potential to be found,
and so little time to find it.

The artist finds an ideal spot.
A limb will serve him well.
Soon, a transparent cross, one foot wide.
The foundation for things to come.

The artist builds off of his effort,
Seeing new inspiration with each stroke.
He paints a bridge, and then another.
Perhaps a walkway there, too.

Hours flow by, as well as ideas
as the artist continues to find new ways
To make his “best” even better.
An end seems far away.

The final touches are added.
A few dew drops, a blade of grass,
a speck of dirt and a few blades more.
I’m sure they mean something.

The artist stands back
To admire his fruits of labor.
A creation unlike anything before.
The world will surely love it.

A fellow patron! The artist hides!
He’d rather watch in secret.
He hopes for approval,
for a critic always knows better.

The art patron appears entranced!
The artists looks on with pride.
The critic must love the work,
for the critic can’t seem to leave!