On my way to the auction sale, I stopped in the little town
As I sipped my coffee I knew for certain there were no galleries to be found
But I inquired of my waitress, who smiled and said I’d see
The finest paintings ever done, within “Life’s Gallery.”

You see, in the city where I work I write a column there
That tells the world if art I see is good or bad or fair
And sure that I was wasting time I found the little shop
With the faded sign that said, “Life’s Gallery” perched upon the top

So not expecting much, I stepped in though the door
To behold a sad display I saw was something less than poor
It really was ridiculous, the paintings hanging there
A sick idea of a joke for all the canvases were bare

I muttered a curse beneath my breath and turned to leave the shop
When a soft yet firm hidden voice said the words “Please stop.”
I spun and saw a little figure of an old man standing near
Who went on to introduce himself, his words I still can hear

He said, “My name is Mr. Life, and I’m glad you stopped to see.”
“The wondrous works of art I hold here, in my gallery.”
I spat some words that showed contempt, “This no gallery!”
He smiled and said, “Most people see, just what they want to see.”

Take this amazing painting, hanging on the wall,
It’s really filled with colors, can’t you see them all?
And every single brush stroke, and every color hue
Are pieces of a life sir, and that life is you…

And here the artist hasn’t grown, his technique is still the same
He painted over what he’d done, he tried to hide his shame
Yet still we see his first attempt, even though it’s faint
And all he wound up doing was wasting time and paint.

He said, “What colors would you choose, what brushstrokes would you use?”
“To paint this tapestry, your canvas of a life…”
“I say, pick the brightest colors, clean your brush and start.”
“Because the paintings that we leave behind are pieces of our heart.”

I cannot say for certain, the time I spent within that place
Suspended there in wonder, lost to time and space
As that little man, that “Mr. Life”, tore my beliefs apart
And with his canvases of dreams, melted this cold cynic’s heart

Now I don’t just look at art and comment if it’s bad
Or trash the works of others or call them sick or sad
For now I have a new way, a way to truly see
I learned inside a strange small shop, named, “Life’s Gallery.”