I'm an artist; that's how I see it

We have a children's poem by Sergei Mikhalkov. The translation doesn't capture the rhyme, but it conveys the essence.)

I took a pencil and some paper,
Drew a road,
Drew a bull on it,
And a cow next to him.
Rain on the right, a garden on the left,
Fifteen dots in the garden,
As if apples were hanging there
And the rain wasn’t wetting them.
I made the bull pink,
The road—orange,
Then above them, some clouds
I sketched in a little.
And those clouds I then
Pierced with an arrow. That’s how it has to be,
So that the drawing would show thunder
And lightning over the garden.
I crossed out the dots in black,
And that meant,
As if the wind had suddenly blown
And the apples were gone.
I also made the rain longer—
It burst right into the garden,
But I ran out of ink,
And my pencil broke.
So I put a chair on the table,
Climbed as high as I could,
And pinned the drawing up there,
Even though it didn’t turn out very well.

The thing is, I don't draw. Very rarely.) I color in all kinds of mandalas and paint by numbers. I can show you one—the latest one.

But that takes a lot of time! And I already spend too much time sitting around...

But my niece drew a picture of me! She's little. It's so funny—I have eyes like a husky, different colors!

But there's something similar about it)

Actually, anyone who draws is really great))