Refrigerators
have
always sung the truth.
The sky is a thick blue line, drawn by a child
with a crayon across the top of a page.
Sun is yellow, and gets a corner all its own.
Smoke's so squiggly; a solid line
scribbled toward the sky and sun,
coming from the chimney slanted on the roof.
with a crayon across the top of a page.
Sun is yellow, and gets a corner all its own.
Smoke's so squiggly; a solid line
scribbled toward the sky and sun,
coming from the chimney slanted on the roof.
Flowers grow two stories up,
dogs are circles whose legs are pairs of lines.
There's daddy and the lawn mower. Mommy and her hair.
And in the pageparts empty after humming pictures drawn,
big red hearts are valentines that hover overhead.
dogs are circles whose legs are pairs of lines.
There's daddy and the lawn mower. Mommy and her hair.
And in the pageparts empty after humming pictures drawn,
big red hearts are valentines that hover overhead.
Happy homes are those made of crayon and manila
paper mats.
Locked inside the minds of innocence
'till tiny fingers boldly grasp the colored wax,
and draw.
Locked inside the minds of innocence
'till tiny fingers boldly grasp the colored wax,
and draw.
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