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The Artist (Poem)

With a stroke of my brush you were painted,

created with a mixture of hues

and wings that were barely fading.

A shy face hidden behind dark tresses,

a caring heart wrapped away,

it was then I understood what you were.

I took the brush and began to paint all of your things,

gave them wings,

and watched them begin to fly,

your eyes lifted up and watched your thoughts leave,

then turned back to me smiling.

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