I seek to strengthen skills in hands and brain
So that I may express both joy and pain
Yet still I feel I can't get off the ground--
Some inhibition in me has me bound.
The hours that for this I strive and strain
Are often on my heart and flesh a drain
But after all: expressiveness--not found.
Until, one day the heavens open up
And golden wine is poured into my cup;
An odd analogy, but never mind
The point is that sometimes I truly find
That for which I've struggled years and years
In spite of all the worries and the fears.
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