The Beauty Blot

An untainted white paper,
Falls a drop of ink,
With motive or no;
Blots the sheet,
I think;
But comes the artist,
With a sunshine smile,
And an imaginary scene,
As his pencil jigs,
The ink blot moves,
Lines, straight and curves,
Criss-cross each other,
Surprised, I stand aloof,
In a minute and two,
The blot disappears,
Incarnates into,
A serene face of cheer.

© Copyright Salvwi Prasad [POETICbug]