Artist added sounds to a stew,
And cooked them up, created new,
And to that new he gave a name,
‘Mine’, he firmly stamped his claim.
Artist took letters, mixed them up,
Formed words, sentences by the cup,
Arranged them into types of tale,
A sea of new ‘Mines’ set to sail.
The artist espied scenes and sights,
Catching them with different lights,
Fixed firmly making them his ‘Mine’,
New visions, of colour, shade, line.
Oh how many new ‘Mines’ of art,
Essential for world’s mind and heart,
But cordoned off from the Theys,
In legally determined ways.
And the Theys in this larger world,
In which new art had been unfurled,
Could tread much less than could before,
Where bigger is not always more.