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Sonnet - 'Immortal'

Weaver of the dreaming, gossamer stuff,
Of colour, light and shadow, tone and hue,
True artist, yet praise she'll oft rebuff,
Modest to the point of ingenue.

Despite her obstacles, she is a gem,
Masterpieces flow out through her hands,
Tapped into magic forces, attuned to them,
Raw creation, bent to her commands.

Artists like her seem to find a 'zone',
Distractions - even time itself -  ignored,
As if seized by inspiration alone,
She shows us frontiers yet unexplored.

And though she puts such praises on a shelf,
The truth is, she's a work of art herself.


-----
Written by Jack_C
Published
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