What were the colors of the past
Those shades of laughter and joy?
Tints, hues, and tones that did not last
All Time could so swiftly destroy.
Remnants of me I try to hold,
They slip away slowly with Age.
Colors have faded, days so seem cold!
Feel alone in this empty stage.
Yet I still have my palette here
And my brush to paint is the pen
Each day's another canvas where
New life colors are touched again!
Cynthia Buhain-Baello~~~03.11.16
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem