In answer to Ann's "What is Art"

Oh webs of mind they knit our spirit to their

wondrous wiles, they bind our thoughts in

beautiful knots, those memory knots 

now severed by the adult norms

and yet through their shredded stands

there is a glimpse of space with forms of

grace, another face, and other works of art

if only we can see and understand

beyond the common ignorance

into the deep philosophies of man

where brians before us flowered, placed their

theories grand and numerous

for others to command and use

some to amuse and shock

and what were they, the aesthetic

joys of senses not to mock but know and use

in every day's long bland hours what bliss

we have the key to this and kiss the 

page on which they wrote those poets

now long dead, we listen to what they said

and wing our wingless bodies

with another hand, we poets

yes 'tis we who understand. 



Or is it? Ann.