So it must have been with the gods
In their art of painting the human being
The master would make a sketch
Outlining the central figures
Completing only a hand or a face
While his apprentices would come behind
Filling in the details emerging
From the mountains in the background
All thought out ahead of time
And sometimes the master would return
To erase even his own work
With a wash of greenish paint
And start again to sketch
A whole new human being
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