#WritcoPoemPrompt34
At the edge of the furthest mountain,
Between the valley and the lazy river,
Beyond the edge of the scented meadow,
I can see the hues painted by the setting sun,
The artist that never took rest,
Nor the brush got fade away,
Even when he was far away,
A new art was created anyway,
Sometimes covered itself by the clouds,
Still the rays always made the way,
To smoothen our eyes and we just lay,
The colourful brush in itself a blessing,
The artist we know, the God we pray!
© ruineddevil