I hang my brushes
as one hangs dried flowers
that once held colors
dried within day's hours.
I would wish to take
the stubble from the beard...
the stiffest that one I could find.
Of course my plucking might seem weird
However, I have a plan.
I will take this growth from a chin of a man.
Then, gather it carefully in a clump.
Brush to makes when in a money slump.
Lightly, dipped in liquid color,
Smeared as a sky of blue and white.
A work in progress I should not bother
till it dries over night.
Add then in spaces blank,
The meadow green and poppies red.
Beyond is a muddy river bank
with giant willow touching a fisherman's head.
Take what my brushes has dipped,
gently add wisps from the hair.
And upon the last space carefully tipped,
gentle highlights on wet water.
Now, to convince this man to be clipped,
"my procedure will not be much trouble".
A battle lost, a painting waits
For money or man to lend brush stubble.
