To a Daughter with Artistic Talent
by Peter Meinke

I know why, getting up in the cold dawn
you paint cold yellow houses
and silver trees. Look at those green birds,
almost real, and that lonely child looking
(5) at those houses and trees.
You paint (the best way) without reasoning,
to see what you feel, and green birds
are what a child sees.

Some gifts are not given: you
(10) are delivered to them,
bound by chains of nerves and genes
stronger than iron or steel, although
unseen. You have painted every day
for as long as I can remember
(15) and will be painting still
when you read this, some cold
and distant December when the child
is old and the trees no longer silver
but black fingers scratching a grey sky.

(20) And you never know why (I was lying
before when I said I knew).
You never know the force that drives you wild
to paint that sky, that bird flying,
and is never satisfied today
(25) but maybe tomorrow
when the sky is a surreal sea
in which you drown . . .

I tell you this with love and pride
and sorrow, my artist child
(30) (while the birds change from green to blue to brown).
The final line of the poem suggests that —
A) the daughter will develop an interest in more practical pursuits as she matures
B) the speaker expects his daughter’s art to transform as she grows older
C) the daughter’s paintings will become more whimsical as she develops her technical skills
D) the speaker believes that his daughter will one day be a successful professional artist