Brush from side to side we
cleave

The sky and Earth in twain

With a pale horizon crenellated
by distant mountains

Made of cobalt-zinc

The perfect threshold between

Viridian growing

From the Naples sand

And heaven cerulean with its

Scattered scumbled clouds of zinc

Fragrant linseed

Fills the air

With earthy perfume

We leave it out to dry

Hang it in a gallery

Admire our creation

Convince some sucker

With too much money

To pay out the nose

For amateur work