When you’re young…

Grandad 4

“I never painted him – and he was so handsome!”
Black eyes, magnify,
as her head tilts in submission to the truth.
No tears to cry, as the memories dry
upon his finished canvas – deep with colour,
textured strokes form sun-bleached tree tops,
foaming seas and fading African skies.
Calm greens fused with shocks of warm yellow;
the smudge of a man with an earthy anchoring and
sparkly specks of blue, to pull you through.
Too much life to contain – he wouldn’t want a frame.
“I never thought I’d run out of time…”
Her gaze falls into her cup, the acknowledgement spills over
and she sighs:
“When you’re young, you don’t think like that.”
Shoulders raise, a sad smile skips into a laugh and
is gone.

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