Monday hit me harder than an Asiatic flu,

Safe to say this man had altered my point of view,

Come Tuesday I’d ought to achieve a goal,

A gaze inside this artist’s soul,

By Wednesday the gusts would soon blow again,

They’d ice the heart of my dear friend,

I hadn’t seen the sun and the rain had been pouring,

I lost the artist on a Sunday Morning.


Thursday seemed forbidding but the storm would soon pass,

I took this gentleman to an artist’s mass,

All of nostalgia we collected on Friday,

The artist was in need of Terra-cotta clay,

Saturday,oh Saturday had been lost in translation,

A Terra-cotta heart has been the last of his creations,

I hadn’t seen the sun and the rain had been pouring,

I lost the artist on a Sunday morning.


Instilled in my head are the artist and his last week,

Commended him at his highs,at his lows,at his peak,

Alas,I saw the sun after the rain had been pouring,

I remember the artist on Sunday mornings.