The Art Enclave

Betwixt the library and the rich earth,

Nestles the room where paint comes alive,

Where charcoal finds its shape,

And artists feel at home,

Surrounded by good friends’ mirth,

And the imaginations of generations archived

In drawers or affixed onto walls with tape.

In turns, we experience a syndrome

Like writer’s block; we fall uninspired,

Only to return with ideas big and small -

Each different but admired -

The ideas are channeled onto the wall

As reflections of the insides of our minds.

Art reminds us: it takes all kinds.