A blank canvas
was occasionally graced
with the sky and lake
in hues of blue
As the wind pushes
the sails of boats
Outside a window.
Inside a home
An artist in a chair
brings life
Into a still frame
Strangers unaware
Of the strokes that bind them
to an empty page
Here they will lay
for eternity.
Years later, far away
a breeze
seems to sing
a threnody
the tide will rise
and the sun will set
Here lie words
as flowers
An empty chair
No artist here
On a grave by the lake