As Renoir eyed the scene he'd paint,
he listened to sweet Summer's sighs.
"Dab softly, artist, with your brush,
those clouds that grace my azure skies.
"And let the bristles barely touch
the aspen trees with cinnamon.
With deft strokes sketch the meadow's blooms
vermilion 'neath a lemon sun.
"Your focal point should be the brook
meand'ring mutely through this glade.
Oh, feather ripples, stipple sheen.
Use eggshell blue, a mellow shade.
"Impressionist, I laud your skills
with colors, textures, mostly light.
Portray uniquely in your way
this country scene for my delight."
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