Artists' Estate
I draw from within,
as outer walls grow less desirable each day.
How warm the place, artists’ estate,
exploring rooms within,
to find one’s craft as gems amass,
from beauty we hold in.
Through doors at will, by want or thrill,
unfolded wings to fly,
toward visions each are blessed to reach,
by will before they die.
If I could house a gifted lot,
I would with unmatched pride,
unleash the thought, "succumb to naught,
to crush creative cries."
How warm the place, artists’ estate,
exploring rooms within,
to find one’s craft as gems amass,
to leave might be a sin.
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