In the heart of Lake City, where winter winds greet, Lives an old hippie artist on Jan 80's seat. With paintbrush in hand, stories unfold, Of vibrant dreams and colors bold. His canvas whispers tales of yore, Where the city's waters gently soar. With each stroke, the past takes flight, A tapestry woven in morning light. A spirit aged yet forever free, In his art, the echoes of eternity. Through his work, the decades flow, A legacy only the soul can know.