In vain I search for words enough

To praise what I have seen;

Your monuments of line and tone

Standing grandly in between

A past resonant with glories

And a future yours to form

From the tempest of your passions;

Your art's life giving storm.

As locks of golden serpentine

With warring muscles intertwine,

Flesh-locked fires intensify

The burning blueness of an eye,

While fingers, eloquently met,

Tell of bitter love and sweet regret.

Longing for refuge and release,

Waging war to foster peace.

O how the turmoil of the heart

Builds the pure harmonies of art!

And still I search for words enough

To tell of things sublime;

Of your iridescent monuments

That test the will of time,

Paying tribute to tradition

While defining art anew.

Each stroke upon the paper is

One tiny part of you.