Nature’s poetry, narrated subtle as undercurrent to the cantankerous happenings we experience daily, goes unnoticed as we are wasting away the bubbling spring in our hearts. Even though we are attentive to her song, we remain ignorant and reckless in our behaviours. We listen but do not hear and look but do not see.

Pencil, water colour & Indian Ink on textured paper; 760mm W x 590mm H.

Shipping size incl. packaging

Height (CM) = 74

Width / Diameter if cylinder (CM) = 89

Depth / Diameter if cylinder (CM) = 17

Weight = 7kg

1 in stock


‘Here we are, 

wandering alone, 

waiting duteously on Nature, 

while she unfolds a page of stern, 

of silent, 

and solemn poetry 

beneath our attentive gaze

The story that has been narrated, 

the song that has been sung to us, 

possess what we were enabled to create

But indolent we are; 

reckless we are, 

and most ignorant; 

for we do not know that our dreams are rare, 

our feelings peculiar 

We do not know, 

have never known, 

and will die without knowing, 

the full value of that spring 

whose bright fresh bubbling in our hearts, 

keeps it green’

VaL Smit ©