by Jane White Chamberlain
I need not visit galleries to look for
Paintings framed in gilt.
I see my paintings through the trees
That God Himself has built.
He hangs them all before my eyes
And no two are the same.
A bit of sky with fleecy clouds
Beyond a country lane,
That flashes of red and olive green,
A pair of birds in flight,
The scarlet tanager and mate,
A rare and wondrous sight.
There’s one I see of a sparkling pond
With shining ripples there.
Near forest aisles so quite-like,
One sees pink orchids clustered rare.
At night God shows me different scenes,
Long shaft of silver rays
Send shadows casing in and out
The hills with mist arrayed.
I like the galleries of God
Where paintings hung for me
Are all proof that I shall need
Of one Great Diety.
Sam's Great Grandmother