We holster the canvas and the paint,
Time goes by as little changes take place.
Amused by how a blue streak becomes the sky,
The brown and green figures show up as winding trees.
We continue to paint grass and animals,
Then continue to match Yellows with yellows.
We hold the farm in the fields.
In our hands, a pack of ducklings. We do this as
We imagine what else to add, impatient, our hands shaking, mind racing,
Trying to blossom something great,
Annoyed with staying inside the lines
We let the brush rest as we choose new paints,
setting each one we dislike to the side,
our faces were glued,
to the canvas,
for a painting to be created.