A cold, hard Magpie

Steel Waters
By Lemuel Crouse

Paints I have aplenty,
An ample color palette
Waiting in my wooden kit,
Sufficient to the task at hand,
Wanting, at last, to bask
In light, to sit rough-framed
On some stark mantel,
Art drawing the eye upward
From mounded ash, soot
And cold hearthstone.

Skill, I have some in hand
And heart; soul and eye enough
To see beauty and reflect it...
Like young firs towering
Over a placid pool
On some far western stream,
Or a supple autumn willow
Bowing to touch a quiet pond...
But honor demands response,
And so I set aside the brushes.

On what shall this day's hushed
Work be drawn? Neither wood
Nor Gessoed canvas will hold
The havoc lurking behind
An artist's slighted eye. You choose...
Polished steel, eh? Well, now...
Will this battered easel stand
The strain, or shall my heartstain
Be the beauty your slender mirror
Evermore splendidly reflects?

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