The artists sleep naked in open fields ,
chilled by the rains of spring
They walk carefully without cover through -
the cloudburst of summer , forging -
swollen streams to the beat of their -
internal drummer
The writer braves the pang of November -
showers , documenting his or her travails -
with each passing hour
Just as the winter snow shall melt and collect , -
forming pools of quiet reflection ,
the creator will continue their quiet struggle -
with forethought and materialistic abnegation ....
Amen ....
Amen .....