Seeping through the window,
A beautiful yellow light
Revealing a small room,
With shades, dark and bright.

Amongst the pretty sight,
Stood a white canvas,
In the middle of it all,
All shapes and colors.

It waited to be touched,
Get splashed with paint,
To feel new and colorful
Not ordinary and plain.

But the artist denied,
“I won’t” he said.
It’s too beautiful to be touched,
“Too pure!” he exclaimed.

Beauty lies in the ordinary
Have the eye for it,
Extraordinary it shall become
However pale or bright.

So stood the white canvas
With pride, this time
Complaining no more,
Feeling adorned and white.