He tugs at her sleeve,
Excitement bubbling on his face,
A sheet of priceless art,
Hidden behind his back,
A smiling sun, rays flying about,
In an azure sky, with v-shaped birds,
Trees laden with apples,
Flowers strewn on the ground,
A meandering river, making its
way,
Through mountains with sharp peaks,
A misshapen hut, and at its door,
Smiling parents, and a child.
He tugs at her sleeve again,
She glances over her digital screen,
He smiles, talking animatedly,
About the cow that had almost been.
She listens, hardly hearing,
She looks, hardly seeing,
Engrossed in her world,
She misses the wistful look in his eyes,
He retreats, head bowed,
The sheet of art, crumpled in the crook of his arms,
She taps on, oblivious to life,
That has just passed by,
Memories that could have been made,
The artist who might have been born.
All sacrificed, at the altar,
All in vain.
