The Hovering Artist

Sun shine brightly on my hands,
Through clouds and trees,
For me to do your bidding,
To put your will before me.

The birds were your voice,
The people, paint on your earth caught,
Held up floating by the angels,
So fine, thread pulled taught.

No rain or storm or mildew
On my bread,
A calm and quiet
Bedstead.

So light in the sky,
I hover up above,
The pictures I create,
Are the signs of love.