If I think of each of us
Putting our daub of paint
On the moving canvas of today
Some beautiful some smudged
I start to think I understand
What the painter has in mind
Filling in the same scene
Over and over again
Each one perfect in its way
But still something eludes him
Each one beginning as if
Nothing had come before
Earlier efforts stacked in the corners
Eager to sketch one more
This day of days
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