His Sketch Artist

The Sketch Artist

I have always longed to be an artist;
drawn to paintings and sketches;
I’ve unskilled hands but try my hardest;
but, my detracters, all, are wretches.

I’ve longed to be a sketch artist;
a pencil and paper; my tools.
You need not be the smartest;
such sketches follow no rules.

First, I attempted to make stick people;
then, I sketched many trees;
my trees looked more like a flagpole;
I forgot to sketch in the leaves.

Then I tried to put smiles on faces;
but the smiles turned out to be frowns;
all my art is comprised of disgraces;
for it looks like the work of clowns.

I finally decided to make pictures of words;
but, that form of my art didn’t fly;
many think my writing’s for the birds;
and likely will be, till the day I die.

And so, I’d better leave it all up to another;
since I no longer write well, or doodle;
I’ll leave the important role to a brother;
toss my writing, all kit and caboodle.

Now I’ve turned into a permanent utensil;
where I no longer need be the smartest,
I am only the Master’s number two pencil.
for, the Master is the only true Artist.

Monty   6/26/22.   # 1,185