A painter came by stealth last night and painted all the trees.
He edged each bough with crystal and dripped white on fallen leaves.
It did not take him long, I think, to scatter paint around.
But, my! He left it everywhere. And some he dripped in mounds.
If I had pulled my paint brush and with wild abandon, free,
Had left paint splatters all around, then shame, yes shame on me!
But he sneaks in on breezes, and mocks the canvas size,
And with exquisite tenderness paints all that fills my eyes.
© Linda Barrett