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Letter to Art
In the quiet corners of the mind,
Where thoughts in whispers softly bind,
Art blooms like flowers in spring's embrace,
Each stroke a story, each hue a trace.
From the artist's hand, creations flow,
A symphony of passion, a gentle glow.
In landscapes vast and portraits true,
Emotions swirl in every hue.
Sculptures rise from solid stone,
Frozen in time, yet not alone.
They speak of dreams and struggles fought,
In silent echoes, lessons taught.
Art captures moments, fleeting and rare,
A mirror to souls, laid bare.
In galleries of heart and mind,
Its beauty and truth, we humbly find. 0 reply
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