Starry Night

Brush strokes caress the page
Whispering soothing words to her.
Our young artist looks up to the sky
As he translates it to the paper.

The stars swirl and dance for him
And the buildings sway with them.
The twinkling of the stars descend
Precious words to him.

The wind blows strong upon the hill,
Dancing with the trees.
The artist records all that he hears
Along with what he sees.

He looks at it, his masterpiece,
Keeps it against his will
The stars are confident in him
And the night will not be still.

At the time his art is seen as trash,
But the night can see beyond.
One day his paintings will be known.
Of him, art will be fond.