colours shot on the palette, Weavers and ploughers reflected in the artist`s eye

working lives in his paint, Their souls eased on canvass under the oiled sky.

faces and daffodils, The darkened wood on the loom from sweating hands;

shadows on the hills, All committed on canvass for others to understand.

and his talent wanted recompense. Vincent`s soul burned, painting skies changing hue

own bright radiance Before suicide in wheat fields near the Cafe Ravoux.

it tormented his soul. I watched my dear friend slowly losing his sanity

because he was working in a hole...

WE ALL KNOW AS.. LIFE.

THE ONE AND ONLY T. ARYN BROWN