No paints and not one canvas
Nothing sellable at all
But, an artist is an artist
With art to share with all

No profit in creations
No way to sell his works
But he creates pieces of magic
With lots of different quirks

His tools are nothing special
Pastels and pieces of old chalk
His canvasses are static
They're the place that people walk

He's a sidewalk chalk pastel artist
With only digital designs
His work goes with the weather
Cracked pavement creates lines

No matter where he travels
He can work when the muse strikes
But, he has to watch out for street walkers
And folks riding through on bikes

His pictures are amazing
Where real life ends you can not tell
But, because there is no canvas
He has nothing to sell

He creates from chalk and pastels
He is an artist just the same
As those with paint and easels
He just plays a different game

Donations are his lifesblood
An empty cup beside him lies
Stand back and be awed by
His artwork before it dies.