Artist in Her Sky

The serene times come, and you work in peace,
Able to ignore the temblor
Of noisome children, or sirens police
A time you can still remember.

And art you create with a deft hand and brush
With every stroke, you make me proud.
In the calm afternoon, there is no need to rush,
For the outer world is not loud.

You are busy, but not busy too
To make enough time for him
Who you love, to whom you're true
To end, and to begin.

I love my painter, and I move her high
Into a land of delicate joy
And there she sits, observing in the sky
Painting, making proud her boy.