A Picture Poem by Ian Smith

The future should be a picture you paint.
When I paint mine, you are always there.
Sometimes in sun, sometimes rain,
Together, apart, but always there.

The future is not mine to paint.
It has been painted already.
I wish I could paint my own,
Then I could make the brush-strokes steady.

What can we do then? If our
Fate is hidden beyond our sight?
We paint our own nonetheless
And hope, in the end, it turns out right.