I can almost see him,
Rivers of rain down
His hair and beard,
Darkened red to auburn,
Streaming over his face,
His eyes as he paints
Feverishly, striving
To cheer himself with
Brave sweeps of color.
Hills , fields, farmhouses
Still, lulled to sleep
By the music of the rain
As he strokes them
Boldly, with brilliant blues,
Luscious yellows, joyous orange,
Glorious splash of crimson.
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