Artisan

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Artisan

A Poem

O Hand, artist-eyed perfectionist,
Of minute care in fibrous feather.

O Hand, each spire’s architect,
Stone grown live or even better.

O Hand, conjurer of thought,
Casting dreams in adamant matter.

O Hand, casting spells on heart,
A wistful brew that cannot falter.

O Hand, music’s swaying art,
No care can burden hereafter.

O Hand, holding rein and chariot,
Guiding war and victory’s banner.

O Hand, of soul binding flute,
Plunging our being in heedless rapture.

O Hand, potioned in flower fragrant,
Making heady a simple morning hour.

O Hand, Thy single embrace joyous sweet
Forever annuls each bitter tear.