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Description
My Vincent, your art makes the canvas pulse
With energy untold, while colors rich
And bold in hue cause one’s soul to convulse,
While the great artist’s skill can mind bewitch.
Skies decked in stars swirl blue across the night,
While flowers like the sun explode with fire.
Crows over wheat-fields take to gloomy flight,
And the tall cypress tree climbs like a spire.
There was light to be seen in every place,
And you, my Vincent, took great care to find
The beauty in a lowly peasant’s face
Or to see hope in a child left behind.
But for all that you saw, you faced great strife,
When anguish at last brought end to your life.