The Ghost and the Art
There once was a ghost who loved art
He wandered the halls of a museum after dark
He admired the paintings of old and new
The colors, the shapes, the stories they drew
He wished he could create something of his own
But he had no hands, no brush, no stone
He felt a sadness deep in his soul
He longed for a way to express his whole
One night, he found a canvas and some paint
He thought he could try, but he knew he ain’t
He hovered over the tools with a sigh
He wanted to touch them, but he could only fly
Then he had an idea, a spark of hope
He could use his breath, his voice, his scope
He blew on the paint, making swirls and dots
He whispered his feelings, his dreams, his thoughts
He worked all night, until the dawn
He poured his heart into his song
He made a masterpiece, a work of art
He found a way to share his ghostly part
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