Cheap Illusions

The perfect worker hath appeared
Who ne’er sweats or tarries
But the lack is painful clear
When steel and soul are married

This is what he fails to see
Knowing not the joy of life
Booing down the towering tree,
Chicken’s egg & pregnant wife

Behold, he says, my wizardry
Regard the speed at which I go
Ruin the gates which keep us far
From praise the painters place in troves

I wish not for the sight of it
This mangled mess we've made of art
Spitting in the way of every honest soul
Who’s taken part

He fumes at those who work for skill
'Ye were born with skill', he scoffs
Let us now democratize
And lay aside all haughty thought

'We shall soon replace you all'
He whispers in the painter’s ear
Halt your wasteful weeping
For the future has appeared

But after all there yet shall be
A dreamer by a babbling brook
Caught in nature’s revelry
Taking flight in sketching book