Book Of Poems

Painting

A drawing in a canvas,
But it holds a lot of dramas.
Some may worth billions,
But yours can't be valued by any denominations.

We painted,
We created,
Memories we thought that'll last
But it all ended up so fast.

I know this may sound cliché,
But memories aren't like paper mache,
Memories should be well kept,
Forever to be expressed  and not to kept on secret.

I'll always adore you,
Like the paintings you drew
In the canvas that had been a diary,
For us that can be adored by many.