A taste for art, what kind, what kind?
Why, pictures made in words of course,
Why, pictures made in sparsely squares,
Why, pictures in a photo and a sketch,

The art became a techy taste,
Then beckoned me to learn with haste,
How to make art with such a taste,
How to make art at its own pace.

Digging into down low passes,
Spinning balls off outstretched forearms,
Diving, hitting, falling, missing,
Grasping thoughts to learn the ropes,
Sometimes grazing speeding fibres,
Nursing cuts and gaping smiles.