The Fruit of the Artist's Labor is

The disgust of the onlooker's glare.

Days entwined with silk streamers interposed.

Momentous mrnings and an evening to mend

The creator strokes

Up and down

In ovals

All in swoops together.

attatched

connected

labor

scrutiny

Completed in glory

A work with the blessing of heaven

Crushed at the whoosh of a palm.

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