The Artist

A gentle look, a quiet nod,

The artist looks for the face of God,

To the caves in oceans deep,

To the earth encased in sleep,

To the swallow as it chips,

Away at the mountain’s flattened tip,

To the bold savana lion,

To sacred hills in Zion,

To the child lost in dream,

Following an ancient stream,

Made not by sword but by a pen,

As the artist weaves his tales again.