IN THE SHED I OPENED A TIN

 

In the shed I opened a tin

Its contents were Red within

But it smelt like blue paint

So I resolved it was Red paint

FREDERICK BAZILLE

 

In the woodlands of burgundy

A bright light of impressionism

Was cut down by Prussian rifles

In the name of French imperialism

 

His corpse left decaying in a ditch

Found by his father under burgundy skies

A founder member of a movement

Unnamed until long after his demise