The lakes were filled with sunsets and the birth-marked butterflies
On balanced wings were cruising ’cross the mirrors of the skies.
The granite learned to glisten and the rocks that held the rain
Awoke to truer technique, tempting visions back again.
Thus from a bickering were born the painter’s art and lore
That beauty might be glorified by love forever more.
THE ROAD TO ROSLYN
Upon the road to Roslyn Town,