Words are the medium I choose
with rhymes which often come in twos.
To draw and paint is not for me
but art is in my family.
My Mum took classes to progress
her tutor was McCahon, no less.
He made them draw an empty crate
which Mum considered not so great.
She longed for landscapes, seascapes too
with trees of green and skies of blue.
She knew somewhere you had to start
but empty crates, to her, weren’t art.
And so in nineteen sixty-two
she left the class, the charcoal too.
She left McCahon, abandoned there
for water colours ‘en plein air’.