The Canvas

The canvas was in front of her, white and bare
Her mind already creating what wasn't there
Ever so gently she picked up the brush
Placing paint on it with a masterful touch
It starts taking shape, so what could it be?
A flower, a seascape, a portrait, let'see
It becomes more clear now, although still not quite there
It is a dwelling place, there a walls and a table, why, even a chair
It was her home and her family, what more could it be?
A house filled with love and of course an easel or three!
The hands that created so much, are now stilled
Her paintings hang with pride on the walls, just as they always will.