Where color worlds of wonder wane,
a thousand shades of green are felled
And swirled into a mute terrain
as past, present and future meld
Life’s pedestal of joy is set on stomping grounds of grief and pain
Where shining hours pirouette with gray and brown then gold again
We all are artists of a kind; bound to the brush of circumstance
Where seasons soon scatter behind like scenes in a bizarre romance
Darling, sometimes your lips touch mine; sometimes we flounder, fume and fuss
Sometimes we choose hue and design, and oh, sometimes it chooses us
Life’s pedestal of joy is perched in dirt of hurt and hopes and dreams
How often tears and laughter merge, how brighter then, sheer gladness gleams
Where we are takers, not the Giver of the colours on the tray
Ahoy, both joy and sorrow quiver on the brush we call Today
Darling, sometimes we miss the choir when we try to snare the notes
Sometimes the song spills like wild fire; sometimes its sticks in our throats
Life’s pedestal of joy is pressed into the soil of test and toil
Fond hellos happily caressed become fodder for farewell’s spoil
Where color worlds of wonder wane, a thousand shades of green are felled
And swirled into a mute terrain as past, present and future meld
Darling, sometimes our taste and touch are far too rushed; let’s slow it down
Because sometimes we waste too much paint on the details of a frown
© Janet Martin
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