She holds up a frame wherever she goes
Says she finds works of art everywhere she goes
At the checkout line behind a mother and child and an old man mumbling to himself about a
war he never fought in
On a city street in the morning when the pink sun ray touches the silver wall that looms over
the doughnut stand
At a cafe she frames an artist reading, a mistress waiting, and a girl running her fingers
through her hair
With this frame she's painted a thousand paintings that lived and died in a moment
She's taken a thousand pictures that only she can see
I want to steal the frame from her and frame the framer
So she would see the joy she brings to me