The quaint masterful artist stood high in power,
brushing soft against my rough countenance,
the beautiful maiden sat tall and obedient,
reflecting her ardor with a soft frolicsome smile.
He became riveted upon my unfinished facade,
working to mask my uneven surface,
with the image of an angel,
the angel of life.
For she perched before him,
working to create a smile out of the austere man,
hours turned to days,
days grew into weeks,
the colors splayed upon me became tender,
voiceless,
her chest falling slowly away,
each breath in honor of her love for him,
he was finished.
The beautiful angel of life gave in,
draining into my coarse canvas,
as an angel of death.
