poem: this is an artist

"

As she digests the black scribblings

On the score, the faint sounds of

Melody echo in her head. Then, the years

Of training magically transforms the dead ink-blots into

Harmonies through her smurfish fingers, bringing 

Alive the music along with its dead composers.

To celebrate the splendour of the music-scapes that

Escaped her body, she turns to writing verses

To try record the intensity of capturing the 

Soul of the composition.

In so doing, she brings the art from ink back to 

Ink. 

This is an artist.

Uncle T