Untitled #2

Written by Pablo Picasso

For you every day begins
    like a powerful erection, an ardent
    lance pointed against the rising sun.
Props is still the one who swells
    the invention of your grasses and your monsters
    but he is only your brush, you pen, your bruit,
His sap is joyously spilled
    in colors, in lines, in music, in words.
You salute him every dawn.
Props, always ready,
    hidden among the fountains of trees,
    rises up and smiles on you.

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