In the quiet gallery of dreams,
Where colors whisper and shadows play,
A tapestry woven in silent streams,
Awaits the curious heart’s array.

Brushstrokes speak in vibrant hues,
A language of passion, hope, and fears,
Each canvas a window, offering clues,
To the artist’s soul through the years.

Sculptures stand in silent grace,
Chiseled whispers in marble and stone,
Capturing movement, time, and space,
In forms that breathe, yet are alone.

Let us linger in this sacred hall,
Where art becomes the voice of the heart,
In every piece, we hear the call,
To see, to feel, and to never part.