Destruction of Beauty

I stand outside
the wind blowing my hair
into my face
I'm staring
at the intricate artwork
drawn in chalk
at my feet
a stunning copy
of some famous painting
drawn upon the sidewalk
I'm trying to imagine
that person
man or woman?
drawing that
kneeling on the hard cement
for hours on end
carefully selecting
just the right color
to create the masterpiece
i stand in awe
of their patience
and obvious love
of what they do
when suddenly
pat...
pat...
pit-pat...
rain begins to fall
slowly at first
but faster
and harder
pitter patter pitter patter
all across the sidewalk
the street
the drawing
with each drop that hits the chalk
the colors spread
seeping together
blurring the image
washing it away
and i wonder
how can anyone
put so much effort
into something that will never last?
how do they cope
with with the pain of the loss?
do they just hope
that it will be enjoyed while its there?
do they forget about it
as soon as they're done?
tears stream
unwillingly
down my face
to mingle with the falling rain
salty drops of sadness
at seeing something so beautiful
simply fade away
the sad thing about chalk
is that the rain will wash it away