People, you are pots of paint for my canvass. With all your quirks and foibles, And wonderful ways. The world indeed is crowded With many pots of paint: Glorious views.
My brushes are all aquiver, Inspired by everything. From India to Iceland, Russia to sunny Spain. You folk, I love to paint you, Though never your actual words.
The universe, a marvel, Flying through the heavens. Swirling spiral galaxies, Pallets for my verse.