MT. RIGA ROAD
If I could draw—The country liesA beacon to my pointed pen,Enticing me to sketch again,Or paint the colored twilight skies.If I could play—I’d harmonizeThe babbling brooks in mossy glenOr sing the whispered words of menOr wordless songs in misty eyes.I wish that God had given to meExpression that real artists show ...The power to understand and see,Uplifted by the will to know.Instead, I write my paltry stint,Which usually isn’t fit to print.
If I could draw—The country liesA beacon to my pointed pen,Enticing me to sketch again,Or paint the colored twilight skies.If I could play—I’d harmonizeThe babbling brooks in mossy glenOr sing the whispered words of menOr wordless songs in misty eyes.I wish that God had given to meExpression that real artists show ...The power to understand and see,Uplifted by the will to know.Instead, I write my paltry stint,Which usually isn’t fit to print.
If I could draw—The country liesA beacon to my pointed pen,Enticing me to sketch again,Or paint the colored twilight skies.
If I could draw—
The country lies
A beacon to my pointed pen,
Enticing me to sketch again,
Or paint the colored twilight skies.
If I could play—I’d harmonizeThe babbling brooks in mossy glenOr sing the whispered words of menOr wordless songs in misty eyes.
If I could play—
I’d harmonize
The babbling brooks in mossy glen
Or sing the whispered words of men
Or wordless songs in misty eyes.
I wish that God had given to meExpression that real artists show ...The power to understand and see,Uplifted by the will to know.
I wish that God had given to me
Expression that real artists show ...
The power to understand and see,
Uplifted by the will to know.
Instead, I write my paltry stint,Which usually isn’t fit to print.
Instead, I write my paltry stint,
Which usually isn’t fit to print.