White tents flapping in the wind,
audience claps to sounds of violins.
Air carries chatter across green grass,
children playfully run and laugh.
Inside tents artists strive
with crafts they've brought to life,
as scudding clouds momentarily hide
that sun which eternally shines.
Art emerges in wood and stone
in paint or pots or cloth that's wove
and there appears His smile
as the artists seeming labour all the while.
David Taylor
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/art-show-2/
