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Lower your eyes lest
The plastic bottles
And other paraphernalia of
twentieth-century man offend.
But look, oh look at the rocks.
Neither Rembrandt nor da Vinci
Could hope to catch the colours
That therein lie.
Delicate greens and browns
Flecked with yellow and black
Were ne’er conceived
Except on God’s palette.
Even Picasso
In his most extravagant mood
Could not conceive the line and form,
The beauty and symmetry of the
Sea slug on the slate and lime.
Still no ugliness there.
Leave the colours
And let the eye ponder on
The shapes, the curves, the soothing lines.
Even Moore could not create
The delicate contours that therein abound.
No ugliness there.
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