Golds and blues and reds abound
Greens for frames made to astound
No two hues are twins to others
Painter of all to you we gather
Leaves so different and so alike
In purpose and beauty to our delight
A million shades and shapes and moods
Creeping, climbing, creatures, too
Where is your pallete to paint the sky?
Why would you paint it for such as I?
Sun arising with glorious ease
The Son is mirrored; the Word received.
