When I sit down to create
I can’t help but feel
Everything’s been done.
There are birds and pianos
And rocks and maple trees
But what in the world is new?
Am I too late?
When I sit down to create
Something already made before
I always wonder
Which life am I going to write
Today?
Will I be a white-tailed deer
Or a spotted newt?
Who will I be
In the natural order of things?
When I sit down to make
The stories I feel spilling from me
I am suddenly a painter of words
And endless worlds.
What in the world is new?
I think I know;
Everything yet to be imagined
And everything soon to join
The natural order of things
Once it’s finally been painted
By its artist,
Without whom nothing would exist.
Poem and photography by Hazel J. Hall
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Hazel J. Hall 
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