To Be A Dot In Monet's Garden

I wish I were
A dot in Monet's garden.
Perfectly placed,
An hour's thought,
Rubbing shoulders with other hour's
A dab of sable
Twisted with a Master's reign.
Left to glorify my place
To watchful eyes;
Excited cries.

Was I to be a tree;
A bridge; the flowing stream;
Or the lilly
That is lofted with perspected life?
I care not.
Boldly placed,
Yet adorned in congregation.
That Monet's passion
Ordered my creation
Would comfort me into eternity;
A prevailing touch of love.