A Winter Snow Storm
by Juliana Phillips '18

A jumbled up painting
Too many colors, too many clusters of shapes and figures
The Painter's eyes are sore;
"I know what I must do"
He says.
The new jar comes out, spilling as He walks too and fro,
Onto the freshly polished wooden floor
He reaches the painting, and as the first drop starts sliding down ever so faintly, A slight breath of wind hits the mess of color
A freezing, chilling, cold breath.
The paint comes out,
Slowly
At
First,
And then faster, and faster, until it
Glops onto the paper in chunks of sopping wet stuff.
The paint is white--
Whiter than the light, fluffy clouds,
Lighter than the brightest smile,
Brighter than the Heavens themselves.
With one stroke of the brush, it covers everything
The shapes, the figures, the colors
"There," the Painter says,
"This will do."
The figures can barely be made out over the fresh, new coat, but
It gives a whole new look to His crazy world of art
This, with no doubt, is the Painter's finished masterpiece