Untitled.

The camera is an artist’s single eye

Which captures in its view a scene of worth.

No value may it hold for passers-by

But the photographer sees idea’s birth.

And next, transfers from film, the retina

Where the image is implanted firm,

Straight to paper; light will give it a

Peculiar trait—an image it will turn.

What joy to find potential in the sights

That to another symbolize some thing

Altogether diff’rent! Bring to light

The gift the Creator is bestowing:

Art’s ability is such a gauge

Allows to us a glimpse of His image.

(During my senior year of high school, my British Lit teacher required us all to write our own Shakespearean sonnets. For better or for worse, this was the result. Found it while going through old files, and thought I would post it... be gentle with the tomatoes.)