Splashed across the dawn's canvas,
Were many shades of red and blue.
The painters flew in without a pause,
Every bird painted its due.
A cuckoo set the tempo,
While others tried to fit in.
They weren't trained by Picasso,
Yet, got it right with a brush wing.
Maybe they knew the secret of colours,
That they are just like us people.
Different on the outside,
Similar on the insides,
They could always speak for themselves...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem