Upon the winter shore, a child of eight,
In azure coat and rubber boots, innate,
A canvas of damp sands before him spread,
He with tiny finger, tales in grains he led.
Beneath the gray of heaven’s wintry shroud,
Where once the sun in summer laughter bowed,
The young creator, undeterred by chill,
Painted dreams upon the shore at will.
His canvas, the damp grains of cold delight,
In rubber boots, he danced the artist’s rite.
A finger, small and nimble, etched with glee,
On winter’s shore, a lone prodigy.
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