For you I want to paint a Renoir!
A picture to expose your emotions,
reveal the music in your voice,
mix the aromas permeating you,
portrait your languorous limbs.
I shall colour it ‘Burnt Orange.’
For you I want to dedicate a poem!
Weaving lines will reveal the yarn.
Like the buttons to fasten a coat,
the words will spell compassion,
endearment and sacrifice.
I shall apply erratic ‘Enjambement.’
For you I want to sing a virginal hymn!
The music will be white lacy barok
and the sound of a violin will rupture
the sparkling palet of the night.
Your delicate toes will twitter to the tune.
I shall call it the ‘Ballad of a Troubadour.’
Too late! The picture, poem and hymn,
with the flair of a master of his trade,
have already been perfected by you.
My attempts are as of yesterday, passé.
But still, for my own pleasure, I shall
continue to paint, to write and sing a song.
