Monday, January 10, 2011


Little child, home from school
Shrugs his coat off at the door
Grabs his brushes, papers, paint
Sets them out upon the floor

Stares at the paper, clean and white
Licks his lips, then dabs with glee
The only colors he can find
A brownish red monotony

The paper, once so fresh and pure
Has now been sullied by his art
This ugly number is a fence
Though not so high, keeps us apart

7 boxes does he paint
With varying crimson hues
Till the last one, pure as snow
Chase away the number blues.


Anonymous said...

interesting analogy, i'm not sure if it's neutral or negative for you, yet i find myself relating to it on some level. i always feel that last line, the chasing away part, along with the i'm chasing away the loss of what could have been but wasn't.

Devorah said...


On another level, we are all in this world which is a big painting. Each of us has our corner of the paint by number to fill. We may not see the beauty of the entire painting until we take a step back...and see the picture in its entirety.