Through once an empty canvas still,
Now a sketch on which to build,
As time falls forward, the love grows strong,
For art is such that emotions long.

The colors appear in spurts of life,
They stand forever, through all the strife,
Shadings from past experience grow,
The portrait they'll be, left yet to know.

A backround flows in, and falls into place,
In fore ground, a picture of a brilliant face.
The body is molded, and with it a life,
Such details are carved, by the masters knife.

 
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