The greenery forms a frame
For this landscape Mother Nature painted
Nothing is close, but I still want to touch this canvas
Peaks of mountains resting in the fog
Like islands in the ocean
The breeze that brushes my face
Pushes and pulls the distant fog
Akin to tides and currents

The conversation of hidden birds echoes
These critics raving about the scene
I only hope She can hear them
Oh how they admire Her great work

There may be a horizon limiting the depth
There may be a treeline limiting the outline
But I know this painting does not end with what I see
I want to be an artist like Her
Without scope, without shame
With ambition, with humility