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His Hands He uses his hands To talk to the world Expressing deep thoughts Through his winding and whirls He paints his life Day by day One large sequence But never a mistake He paints so perfect Not a line out of place Colors so bright You know he is painting fate He expresses many emotions Happiness Sadness Anger Confusion But love is never present He’s mysterious How could this be? For a man as great as he I will never know I guess I must watch his paintings grow And fill the spaces with love So his paintings will be complete For one day his paintings will be recognized By someone other than me |
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