Gardeners of the Bloom

Butterfly 3C no 33 ab

Gardeners of the Bloom

I’m the poet from the painter’s touch
Yet artists oft confuse what hues
May fall upon the canvas
With runes that they may find
Etched into stone
For who can sketch the face
Without the rhyme
And who can pen the rhyme
Without a vision
Who can sculpt the clay
Without the hands
That feel the earth
Sifting through
The hourglass of time

The painter paints the rhyme
While the poet pens the portrait
The sculptor molds the face
With tides of time

Artists may confuse the hues
That fall upon the canvas
While poets pen their rhymes
In fractured ink
But together they are one
Inside the gardeners of the bloom
Knowing love shall grace
The missing link



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