Once paint upon brush, the water steam.
As he properly positions all material and paint,
Then cleanses the brush from faucet stream,
In such a daze, every noise sounds faint.

The canvas displays a blank, white picture.
He asks politely, but all means conceal themselves.
Eyes steadily captivated on just one feature.
He tries thinking soundlessly in himself.

While pale lines begin to form,
Thoughts surround his head.
Gently drawing the storm,
In midst of nothing being said...

Desiring a soft voice with affection,
He waits patiently in much silence...
Pausing to hear for his direction,
He longs simply of guidance.

Discouraged with his unknown delineation,
Periodically considering its rough state,
In awaiting his next destination,
Choice in shade and colour he hesitates.

Closing one eye, he listens for a voice.
To concentrate and listen, he tilts his head.
So hesitant on such a delicate choice,
Unsure of paint, he grasps pencil instead.

At last, picking up the brush a soft voice spoke.
Smiling, he places the canvas in a natural light.
Once white, an image form in one simple stroke,
As canvas forms shades and colours just right.

Once paint upon brush, the water steam.
As he properly positions all material and paint,
Then cleanses the brush from faucet stream,
In such a daze, every noise sounds faint.