Poem: The Painter

LET US SING

The Painter

Sitting on the cold mud floor,

She paints the valley and hill,

Giving life to the canvas shore,

Sees the brush bend to her will.

Her canvas used to be colourless,

Until she learnt that her brush’s strokes,

Are not always aimless,

The flow of paint never chokes!

She dips her brush,

To draw the big black panther,

Her legs never in a rush,

She moves them like a dancer!

Glossary

bend: shape into a curve.

strokes: gentle movement of hand.

chokes: stops.

dip: put something in liquid.