| He Knows the Dust |
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The Master Artist takes a brush And dips it in the finest paint, Then, with a flourish of His Hand, Begins with color very faint. He has a picture in His mind, Exactly how He wants it done. What layers to create the depth, He chooses one by one. No wash of His is done without, Each variation a necessary hue. His creation is unfolding With a chosen value. A touch of luster, a daub of shadow, To make the highlights glow - Some wisps for sparkling movement, From a gentle heart doth flow. Deep within there's hidden secrets That no-one ever knew. Other's only see the diamonds. He knows the dust from which it grew. Who can tell from whence it came Or to where of such should go? God ushers forth, just as He pleases. This, we surely know. |
| Other poems by Derry A large collection of poems, submitted by Derry |
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