This is one of my favorite poems, written in the style of my favorite poet.

"Painting Pictures"

The artist brought a canvas ,
To the front part of my lawn .
And with him brought an easel ,
To set his canvas on .
A light oak colored box ,
Contained his paints and board ,
A Thermos full of coffee ,
No detail was ignored .

He wore a charcoal coat ,
That came down to his knees .
A fur lined rectangular hat ,
Saved his head from winters breeze .
Flannel pants of gray ,
Below his coat were seen .
The only thing that did not match ,
Were boots of olive green .

The sun was shinning brightly,
Yellow - Orange in shade
On freshly fallen snow ,
Such intensity it gave.
The sky a washed out powder blue ,
With clouds of cotton balls .
The purest day of winter ,
Just after new snow falls .

And there just in the distance ,
The artists' subject stood .
An old red barn snow covered ,
Cleared within the woods .
The barn in need of paint ,
Gray tainted wood exposed .
The paint still, on was flaking ,
A job for spring supposed .

The roof was missing shingles ,
Of colors brown and red .
And one could just imagine ,
The snow inside instead .
Near the barns top were two windows ,
Looking out a loft of hay .
One was nearly perfect .
The other, pane had broken away .

The artists' hands now freezing ,
Poured a cup of coffee .
Raised to his nose...both hands enclosed ,
It was a sight to see .
His beard and mustache brown ,
With subtle shades of gray .
Encircled his mouth , you saw only his lips
Between ice crystals formed long the way .

A couple of minutes had passed ,
His hands now no longer numb .
He again turned his attention ,
To completing the job he wished done .
The main idea was completed ,
It was time for details , and depth .
Adding pastel shades of color ,
As the fog rolled out of his breath .

On the barn the peak was full exposed ,
The lower left corner the same .
And all around the windows ,
Ice was pressed against the panes .
On the roof and against the door ,
And by the trees , drifts were seen .
A charcoal gray defined the depth ,
Against trees of evergreen .

The snow although the purest of white ,
Had other subtle shades .
Like yellows , pinks , and blues .
Worked in to show a glaze .
A single set of footprints ,
Led out of the barn door .
And one could only think ,
It was entered some time before .

The artist was now finished .
He admired his work with pride .
He was cold and frozen ,
But he was warm inside .
We've both painted pictures ,
Though it sounds absurd .
The artist using paints and brush ,
And me , I just chose words .

(c) Donald.R.Xander 2/96