• There, within the garden, lies a canvas
    O’ whiteness pure does it await
    About the delicate daisies and the reddest rose
    Does this masterfully formed canvas wait
    For a special and meaningful day, it lies alas

    Hither cometh red robin and beryl blue jay
    Nigh company of the clean canvas
    To sing a song and whatever to be said to say
    In forthcomingness the comely vines sweep – about the canvas
    Unto and into the greenhouse does the sun shine today

    And lo, the sky adorned with glistening
    The clouds began to swoon
    For anon is coming day of darkness
    Personae certain doom

    Tortuous, caliginous, and ominous
    Lighting a’spark with fright and fear
    The sky is sobbing and showering tears
    Upon the flower bed so near
    And paths spread iniquitous

    Stepping forth and forthwith from the hovering smog
    Tread lightly over earth something sinister
    Heretofore the canvas hidden within fog
    Thereat the paintbrush now brister
    Stained lovely white rancid and wrong

    But without a trace, so absconded the painter
    Along with the joy and peace,
    Jovial smile and tranquil laughter
    To which the canvas lies at unease
    In sanity and state much fainter

    And lo, the night heavy and moon filled a’brim
    Therein lies the scream, yes, that is the truth
    Because stained canvas yet never knew
    The design of fate’s tragedy without ruth
    And the sinful grin ahead ran shallow and dim

    Yet another painter o’er the petals stepped
    To try the game of art work, and beguile canvas black
    So sorrowful is the canvas artwork
    That creatures contiguous fled devoid of ack’
    Now the canvas power’s puppet
    Lonely, hurt, broken, and alone in darkness
    Had yet it been so terrible ‘twas thereby unbearable?
    For in pieces asunder and amidst the corpse of a patch
    The other’s enjoyed the taste, thought it edible
    Painters add to the blackness

    One fateful day, not far from now
    I foretell of the existence, somehow
    I know that of fire’s pure flame
    To sweep away pain
    And burn the canvas away

    However, still waters flow
    Thereinafter the singed canvas will go,
    ‘Twill follow, for she had been lost
    Now I am washed clean, am found