"He wonders if ever the stream reaches the sea.
That's too far out from here, he thought." avr
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A painting is never finished, I must say.
In it the artist discovers himself;
He is sitting on a rock ledge in deep thoughts,
afraid of the water perhaps;
He flies the white kite, the others the red ones,
why the white one he wonders;
He wades chest deep, goes upstream,
wonders at the salmon returning;
He whistles for the wind to take his kite higher
above the red ones. Whistles again.
He feels the chilly wind from the hills, did it
come all the way from Siberia?
He looks up, the sky's gloomy, clouds heavy;
at this time of the year? he questions.
He traces the source of the stream, ah,
the watershed, he said, it's like a funnel;
He turns downstream, will the stream
join a river. He thinks of the Nile;
He wonders if ever his stream reaches the sea;
that's too far out from here, he thought.
He returns on the rock ledge in deep thoughts,
looks at the blue sky and water. ~
That's too far out from here, he thought." avr
Painting and Verse by Dr Abe V Rotor
Blue Stream in acrylic, AVR c 1990
In it the artist discovers himself;
He is sitting on a rock ledge in deep thoughts,
afraid of the water perhaps;
He flies the white kite, the others the red ones,
why the white one he wonders;
He wades chest deep, goes upstream,
wonders at the salmon returning;
He whistles for the wind to take his kite higher
above the red ones. Whistles again.
He feels the chilly wind from the hills, did it
come all the way from Siberia?
He looks up, the sky's gloomy, clouds heavy;
at this time of the year? he questions.
He traces the source of the stream, ah,
the watershed, he said, it's like a funnel;
He turns downstream, will the stream
join a river. He thinks of the Nile;
He wonders if ever his stream reaches the sea;
that's too far out from here, he thought.
He returns on the rock ledge in deep thoughts,
looks at the blue sky and water. ~