A Poets Vocabulary

There was a painter
Ragged and poor
No where to sleep
And stomach so sore

He worked hard labors
For pocket change
And he sold his works cheap
People thought him strange

They'd offer much more
But he simply refused
"I just need enough for my paint
Only four colors" he mused

You see since the painter was very poor
He could only buy the basic supplies
But from his creamy primary colors
Masterpieces would always arise

He was never critiqued
For using the same paint
For each image created:
Unique; idea he'd not taint

So when you read a poet
Enthralled by the night
Still think him original
And read carefully what he has to write