Waterfall
Waterfall I am a child, with a paintbrush in first grade A colored room, with tools along the walls And all that I can think of is the mighty mighty labor I must start I’m told to paint a cat But all my shapes are funny And I know a great big oval with a tail Is not a cat, no cat at all… I manage just to color in, and stripe it And make do But here I sit again, and I am restless And paint again I must, but paint won’t do! What once was but a trickle is a torrent Coursing, streaming, needing somewhere to break through… What fills a mind, what pounds a heart, except impressions? Colors, images, that swirl like falling leaves A roaring waterfall that gushes through my fingers Each moment never noted, but perceived And far too many gone to be retrieved... And far too many gone to be retrieved. But how the brush is chunky and unwieldy! How the words, like babbling toddlers’ tottered steps Fall flat and sideways, never stacking neatly One thought upon another, on the n...