preserve your memories. they're all that's left you.
eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the front porch,
watching the clouds roll by.
they remind her of her lover, how he left her, and of times long ago.
when she used to color carelessly and paint his portrait.
a thousand times-or maybe just his smile-
and she and her canvas would follow him wherever he would go.
oil streaked daisies covered the living room wall.
he put water-colored roses in her hair.
he said, "love, i love you. i want to give you mountains, the sunshine, the sunset too..
i just want to give you everything as beautiful as you are to me".
so they sat down and made a drawing of their love, an art to live by.
they painted every passion, every home, created every beautiful child.
in the winter they were weavers of warmth.
in summer they were carpenters of love.
they thought blue prints were too sad so they made them yellow.
because they were painters and they were painting themselves
a lovely world.