You wait for the sunshine.
For the light.
For the colors made bright anew.
Paint on the walls yellow.
Beautiful lines and colors,
Peaceful and comforting.
You wait for it all the night long,
and into a day of clouds and impending winter.
About this poem.
It seems to be a day when I set out to write “X” and “Y” comes out. Which means any explanation I might have likely means nothing.
And that’s OK.
PS: I have used this picture before, but that’s OK. I love this picture.