Walking through a gallery of columbine
and daffodil,
beneath the famed painting of the sky,
daubed with the paintbrush of creation
and framed with the greenness of trees,
with the bow of the wind on the strings of the leaves, straining music to our ears,
we remember that the world itself is art.
With our mortal mediums
of actual paint
and infinitesimal brush
on palpable paper
and human minds,
we mimic the Creator,
Who had no model from which to sculpt,
turning out our masterpiece to the museums of men.
Running and swimming and flying in the backyard,
on the royal bed of grass beneath the blue dome of the sky
and haloed by the warmth of the sun,
what a world God made for us.
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Submission Name: The world itself is art
