If you were a boy named Henri Matisse who lived in a dreary town in northern France where the skies were gray
And the days were cold
And you wanted color and light
And sun,
And your mother, to brighten your days,
Painted plates to hang on the walls
With pictures of meadows and trees,
Rivers and birds,
And she let you mix the colors of paint…
… And you raised Pigeons
Watching their sharp eyes
And red feet,
And their colors that changed with the light
As they moved…
… Would it be a surprise that you became
A fine painter who painted
Light
and
Movement
And the iridescence of birds?
