A carelessly dropped paintbrush,
Lies deep between the green blades of grass.
It’s hairs covered in the colour of autumn,
Leaves in a tree, drips with its paint.
Laughter can be heard, angelic, sweet.
As it moves from tree to tree.
Each one in turned painted in colours,
So reflecting the dying time of year.
Skies begin to colour, blue to grey,
Clouds, white on the edges, deepen.
Rain heavy clouds, drifting by,
But their waters will not wash away the colour.
Angels paint the land, the skies,
For each thing must die, to be reborn.
Laughing, smiling, paint smeared,
For the colours of time are theirs.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Excellent
smiles warmly to My girl, another poem that says so much.
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Great visual, especcially in the 3rd stanza. Very great piece.
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Thank you Bxl. Glad you enjoyed it and thank you for your comment.
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