Paint
Every morning I wake up
And look outside and see
The new paint still wet
Even though it's not just for me
I imagine you know
In fall I like my trees red
And flowers bending over
To stand on their head
When you make a mistake
Which is next to never
They merely say
It's a rainbow in the sky
I see the grass and flowers
Still wet with your paint
They are made new again
Wet with gleaming dew
You never paint our house
You've been told to stay away
I truly do not care
They would disregard it
Like things to be thrown away
I've watched you for so long
Waiting for the colors to stop
Stop reappearing in the morning
But in my heart I know
This pattern will never stop
In the spring you paint flowers
Summer a blazing sun
Orange and red for autumn
And in winter you paint the ground in frost
On Easter you paint the eggs
And on Christmas the snow
I will always know
You are watching me
Painters of the yards
YOU ARE READING
life; poetry about every little thing
Poetrya grouping of poetry about well everything. i will upload at least once a day
