Dreaming of a Crayon Past
He sits
Before life’s easel
Passersby
Taking a quick peek
The colors await sunrise
The brush longs for a vibrant streak
A dash across the coming day
And still he sits
Awaiting “his” moment
Staring at a blank canvas
Dreaming of a crayon past
The canvas is contorted
The sun morphing into an angry cloud
Sapless trees shivering in silence
A cold mirror replacing the lake
Reflects the grin of a cold moon
A thinning wolf howls
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