Articles, childhood, Death, fiction and poetry, Freehand Writing, Heart, Love, Poems

The Painting

78712390layers of colour spread over the palette,
some over her tiny hands,
the way she paints with them is beautiful,
only her tiny eyes will understand,

she said I painted mama,
in her favourite dress,
I wish she was alive,
to tell her it was her best.

Standard

Leave a comment