This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:

Heart renderings poured into word-weaver’s mold

Is the poet’s bent,

Striving to paint a picture

And give the words some tint.

Overwork not the adjectives.

Adverbs wisely use.

Inverted sentences,

Please do not abuse.

Literary critics, established,

Sometimes blind,

Cut and rend, omit and blend —

How dare we waste their time!

Describe then an ocean blue,

Green of stately tree,

A bird in flight, dark of night,

So that I, too, might see.

Then change colors on the brush,

Paint with unwavering pen,

Color falling rain, misery or pain,

Then paint the wind.

Squeeze those words, twist them tight.

Turn them inside out.

Make the painting clear as light.

Make the message shout!

Make the picture come alive.

Strip away the veil.

Let my fingers see it, too,

As they trace the upraised Braille.