Reprieve poem.

"Don't you people understand?
I've painted for fifty-five years!"
"Oh, don't waste your natural talent, girl.
You're causing me dreadful fears."

"I want you for myself to call,
anytime I please.
Paint my child, paint my dog.
Who says you need a reprieve?!"

"I haven't wasted my talent, my friend.
I've studied since I was three.
I've created thousands of paintings on paper
and have a college degree."

"I've painted faces and houses and trees
and frilly dresses galore.
I've painted so many ruffles and lace
that my fingers are swollen and sore."

"I've painted freckles and noses and eyes
and character lines, old and wrinkled.
I've used every bit of learning I have
and learned as the paint pooled and mingled."

"But nobody else can do it like you.
They make people out of proportion.
I'd be willing to pay the price,
a monthly portion, A FORTUNE!"

"Oh... you say you've raised your prices, I see.
Well, your work will sorely be missed.
You take that reprieve, or maybe retire.
I'll get back with you on this."

Janet Brice Parker
2003