The Last Artist

The Last Artist

A man is painting portraits
In garish gold and red
Another gives us paintings
Of nightmare dreams instead
Still others paint the city
As seen through powdered glass
But the last great artist in the world
Paints children in the grass

A kind old man from Paris
Paints flowers in the fall
And many dull and sad young men
Paint nothing now at all
A cruel man in the city streets
Paints ugly broken shapes
But the last true artist in the world
Now paints true love’s escape.

Now men paint only simple shapes
Or paint an empty wall
They try to draw like music sounds
Or do not try at all
To all who paint now listen well
Look back across the years
The last great artist living drew
Madonna all in tears.