Starry Night
In the heat of the day, giant sunflowers in the summer breeze did gently sway.
With wide brush he created, as the sweat ran down his sunburned face, swirling,
fluffy white clouds, broiling midday sun, color of many hues, in oils on white canvas
new. Deep orange, earthen browns, aqua blue and warm yellow too.
Starry, starry nights, whirl after whirl of pale yellow moonlight splashed upon a canvas white,
A workaholic he became, day after day he painted his way, but laughter and scorn was
his only pay.
Life became unbearable as unknown voices demanded perfection beyond his vanity.
After hundreds of oils he did create and while waiting for acknowledgement, one hot
summer day, along a flowery lane, in a moment of insanity, he took his life in vain, what
a worldly shame...Vincent Van Gogh was his name and only now does his name lives in fame.
