I am painting a picture

of a man who looks like my father.

But I cant get it perfect.

Sometimes I think Ill give up

And then my stroke is truthful.

When I concentrate too hard

I slip and practically spill

the water on the canvas.

Time always changes a watercolor.

Especially in that early period

between wet and dry.

In the back of my mind

my own history of art teachers

tells me to leave the

white be, to use my time wisely,

never to throw away

or give up on

a piece of art.

I enjoy painting,

but something tells me

the finished product shall

be equally worthwhile.

Something in my own gut

tells me never to sell

a masterpiece classic.

Just to drop to my

knees, and hope it

comes out OK.