and he put the last ****** to the canvas
a tear fell
his wife called forth the family
now mostly unknown to him and generations younger than this,
it was finally finished
so many of his friends had passed on to wherever they believed
and now so could he too
and so he called him
'It's finished' he said
'I will make the arrangements' responded the voice
and then the master smiled and left.
and in the great hall in the main room it hung
freed from the decades of it's creation
and people would walk by and say
'oh my ***,'
'what type of wood is that frame made out of?'
'I don't know,' they would say, 'but it looks cheap.'
and they would move on to the next masterpiece