The colors have no choice but to follow the paintbrush’s way
They sit on the pallette—waiting, wondering:
How long will it be until the paintbrush looms above again?
Until the paintbrush asks the colors to offer themselves to it?
The colors have no choice but to follow the paintbrush’s way.
The paintbrush takes a little of Red, a little of Blue– forgetting none.
The colors are never the same after the paintbrush sails through.
Red looks a little purple, and Blue looks a little green too.
The colors blame the paintbrush.
They curse and spit at the mention of its name.
While the colors may blame the paintbrush,
The paintbrush only follows the painter’s view.