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Darn typo, should read But when my work is completed.
MIND'S GALLERY I grasp the stem and make a pass Across the matted finish. The picture thus is just as clear As my imagination. The image is whet by strokes of luck And shaded by experience. Trees and clouds are swept to form, Buildings are created. The eyes that now stare back at me From my glistening production, Tell me of their unfortunate task, One easier shown than stated. This picture is a solemn one, (Has it justification?) Only by right of man to have hope or dreams. This picture is a gorey one, But it hangs in the galleries of men's minds. I chisel words on a parchment pad, But my work is completed, The hard, cold eyes and frozen mouth Speak for fear and regret. The clay I knead into a word And form with the tip of a pencil, Tells me a chapter is ending And another beginning. Don Becker
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