Michelangelo

The other day, I saw my brother lying in a small square of sunlight and squirming contentedly. When I asked him what he was doing, he said, "I'm having a  sunbath," as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. My prompt for the 4th of April was to write a poem with the title being the name of a painter.

He lay there twitching in the sun
Yawned like a cat and stretched sleepily like one
He seemed to be having loads of fun
And earthquake couldn't move him until he was done

It seemed is dreams were soaring high
Painting the roof and the sky
His fancies all just seemed to fly
I couldn't see them though I did try

If shooting stars down fell
I think through some sort of spell
Dreams return them healthy and well
It seemed he was painting the Sistine chapel