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Versurile Level 42 - A Kinder Eye
Versuri A Kinder Eye
In his widowed years of longing, in his windowed
room of light
he lay the oil upon the canvas, brought sweet
memory to life
his speckled beard a brush of colour, his spotted
hands both grace and speed
I was the boy who came with evening, to sweep his
floors and bring his tea
To the world he was the Master, his landscapes
filled the gallery halls
but now he painted only portraits, unframed upon
his private walls
subjects sitting-walking-laughing in playful
flight or soft refrain
a thousand forms and colours, but every face the
same
Across the page (across the ages) the moving hand
of history bleeds
... for a kinder eye to see us, not as we are,
but as we dream
A winter's night when I arrived there, he looked
so tired and near the end
and as I cleaned his bench and brushes, I wished
out loud to be like him
he said that art was only longing, trying to do
what can't be done
and though he'd signed a thousand paintings,
still he'd never finished one
As I finished up my sweeping, in his sleep he
spoke her name
I looked again at all the portraits, each and
every face the same
not as she was in pain or sorrow, but in timeless
beauty seen
as she served his noble dream
Across the page (across the ages) the moving hand
of history bleeds
... for a kinder eye to see us, not as we are,
but as we dream
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