A Painter In Verdigris Poem by Jacob Underwood

Withering as I set olives in my eyes
I'm only here paint your halls with my dyes
Beaming walls filled with green and guise
Rich in paint but not paper to get arise
With absolute clover in my midnight skies
Rich in my hands with the mossy canvas
To wash the walls away in oak ridden callous
With olive vines to wrap me I'm thankless
All I lack is to be lulling and captious
Forever ingulfed in weeds with atlas