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.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 8:50 PM UTC
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.
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