Barred from True Art
A flower sketched upon a page,
A doodle that belies her age.
With varied colors, shades, and hues,
'tis drawn with reds and greens and blues.
"Ah, but alas," remarks her fellow,
"It lacks some oranges and yellow."
To that she must reply with haste,
"Ah yes good sir. You have good taste."
But sadly, she looks o'er her brushes,
And but one shade of amber touches.
She holds it up for all to see,
A gasp is heard, but not of glee.
For though she has both puce and teal,
And flowers colored with such zeal,
The only golden pen she owns
Is ugly, bisque-like, makes her groan,
It lacks the shade she so desires
For True Art to which she aspires.
