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Life is a Canvas
The paint on the canvas started out fine
The artist was graceful and not out of line
But after awhile it started to tear
So he took out his needles and stitched it with care
After hours and hours it started to gain beauty
Day after day he worked on it purely
Every color had a different story
He would use a new hue every morning
But after a while the tears kept on coming
He keep up and the paint started smearing
He managed to keep it presentable 'till finish
Then he hid it away and started a new life fishing
The canvas began to grow dusty and
The room it was in, all the more musty
Eventually the old artist died
And his son became the heir of his pride
He began to sell his father's things
And anything he couldn't, in the trash, he would fling it
He came across the old canvas and didn't know what to do
So he his dad up to the retirement home
The one that in their yard has the garden gnomes
He felt he had a debt to pay
So he sat himself down and he started to paint

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