Prophet Painters Poem by fon tuma

The Musician Muse wove caresses,
about those strings of Angel Hair
those fine threads - ropes of the lyre.
Upon the leaves knelt, robbed in purple
who chants lullabies to gods
inspirer of the old Wise of ago
swaying on the stirring trees.

Beads of dew perfume the lush grass,
sparkling the moonlight through prisms
glistening the fertile green vale
in a thousand and one silver lights.
And two with rejoice in their eyes
with prayer and cheerful meet
breathe deep
to catch all their spicy animal scents
mingled with the aroma of the deep night.

And upon canvas and paper
these idols appreciate the converse of the valley,
the talk of the night
the this and thats of what was and will be.