A stroke of the genius,
A twirl of the brush on the expansive canvas,
A dash of color from his artistic hands,
I watched as the artist worked on his masterpiece.

His upperlip lowered in deep concentration,
Beads of perspiration adorning his forehead,
His eyes screwed up in deep revelation,
I watched as the artist worked on his masterpiece.

He carefully climbed the tottering ladder,
A marvellous balancing act with paint, brush and palette,
Under the scorching sun with sweat flowing like a rivulet,
I watched as the artist worked on his masterpiece.

My heart went out to that talented wretched soul,
Painting the advertisement so dedicatedly and spiritedly,
And got down, perhaps richer by a tenner so paltry,
And like a droplet of nothingness and soundless like a cloud,
I watched as he mingled into the vast ocean of the milling crowd.