A simple song begins to play,

the wind blows across the meadow.

The critters, they march,

the birds, they sing,

and neither big, nor the small,

can escape it's growing wonders.



The sun, it shines, to all below,

as everything comes to one.

All are together, and all is the same

to this lovely melody.

Even man, destroyer to all,

can come and find it's beauty.



Natures enemies,

and old friends,

they all come to listen.

The song calms the storm,

and sooths the heart,

problems now far away.



Even I, the simple man,

feels intrigued by this lovely tone.

Never before, had such a thing,

ever touched me so.

Before it all sounded the same,

now it is all so diverse.



The birds sing the melody,

animals stepping in beat.

The stream, it's moving,

the sound of the wind melding it together.

Why had we never noticed before?

Maybe it was always there.



So to this, I think we know,

how art is inspired thus. 

For in the end, it's nothing more,

but paint and music to us,

but to the painter and the player,

this is true wonder and bliss.