Her Life in Colour



Sketches and doodles.
Soups and pot noodles,
these are the things of her day.
Artistic licence is what she most craves,
doing "her stuff" in her very own way.
She won't reside in the shadows, I fear,
why, if she has her way, she'll graduate next year.

Fingerpaints paved the way a long time ago,
Her dreams were all coloured in.
Little Pink Ponies, Barbies and Kens.
Noddy and Big Ears and Little Red Hens.
She's colouring reality all the time now,
with her brushes, her paints, her pencils and pens.

Innocent white paper sits on her easel,
patiently waiting for imaginative strokes.
She sits and she waits for her muse to spring forth,
an abstract? A portrait? A visionary tour de force?
But none of these things, does she then endow,
she paints a pot noodle, Warhol-like, of course.

She sits at her easel, she closes her eyes,
she waits for inspiration and sometimes a surprise.
At the pictures that spring, from her hand and her mind.
Her face full of beauty, so thoughtful and kind,
filled up and brimming, with memories that linger,
of paintings with fingers,
drawing the lines and colouring her life.