I rhyme my native village with Cezanne, The place I live and represent in art, A poet finds genius where he can, The picture that he paints is of his heart. A child, an adolescent and a man With a vision that the world couldn't thwart, And still remaining faithful to my plan, I write about my village, show it warts And all - I must. But I'm a celebrant, Not one whose whole ambition's to distort: Who would grotesque a village like Moyvane Is painting false, a sell-out to the smart. I rhyme my native village with Cezanne, A poet finds genius where he can.