Colours

 

The painter came to his empty room,

His studio made him sad - 

The hues had dried from long ago,

The dyes had all gone bad

Hi studio now seemed all of white

His murals blanched and dead 

All around his paintings stood

Bleached and left to fade

The painter rushed to daub a sheet 

But the canvas cracked away,

No oil or water could he find,

The brushes were all fray.

It is over, he told himself

A truth he always knew,

He looked around at his studio dead - 

It was the final cue

And as he turned around to quit,

He said a mournful bye,

After many a day, he felt the damp,

That of a teary eye

What wonder then, for in that drop,

His world changed in a while,

The hues came back to his studio room,

The murals woke to smile…