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"Vincent at Saint-Remy"

by Marc MacNair


IX.    The Road, pt. I (Two Poplars on a Road Through the Hills)

The muse is neglected, is exploited

Meant to inspire, her love is fatally

Transformed into a prop, a crutch to be

Used for excuse, unappreciated.


The artist composes a lullaby

With no music and no child to make calm;

Simplicity itself can be the balm,

Poplars muses against the patchwork sky


Instead of waiting patiently for Art

Or muses to descend and clarify,

You found your inspiration on your own


The poplar stood defiant for its part

In this sermon you were to testify

Before the road, before the silent town

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