The gift of art, a blessing so rare
In
brushstrokes of grace, the canvas does sing,
A
symphony of hues, a dance of light,
The
artist's gift, a treasure to bring,
But
without work, the masterpiece takes flight.
The
gift of art, a blessing so rare,
A
window to soul, a world to share,
But
talent unused by idle hands,
Falls
short of the dream, a mere demand.
The
artist's task, a calling so true,
To
craft and shape, to mold and brew,
Their
vision and skill, a work of art,
A
labor of love, a masterpiece to start.
The
gift without work, a fleeting thought,
A
moment's joyful, but soon brought,
To
the fore of the mind, a memory kept,
A
dream unfulfilled, a slumber unslept.
But
work and gift, a perfect blend,
A
harmony of art, a true intendant,
Together
they weave, a tapestry grand,
A
masterpiece born, a legacy to stand.
So
let the artist work with passion and fire,
Their
gift a flame, their dreams a higher,
And
though the path be long and rough,
Their
art a testament, a life's proof.
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