Time Left a Stroke of the Brush

There are lots to observe, and there are lots to explore A pen visiting a white paper, to meet and greet for more. I never could look back for a moment I love, but, I did treasure No queries will justify the answer, no specific way to measure. We used to color those cut ladies' fingers and then stamp those on our papers. We used to make paper fans, the strongest in little mind’s rhyme and meters. Long, scorching hot and dry days are passing now, a theme misunderstood Then, at last, the rain, as mysterious tapping sounds on those leaves intrude. I could remember a vivid image of those lost days of sheer joy and laughter I will never regret it, though, for the time left a stroke of the brush,much softer.