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a short poem
Colors, shapes, lines,
Come swimming into my head.
Swirling, Blending, taking form,
Becoming beautiful pictures in my mind.
Images, fantasies, memories lost,
In vivid detail like dreams made real.
Pen, paint, bright pastels,
Tool to capture fleeting sceans.
Yet the moment tool and hand are one
All visions of fancy are washed away
Like chalk drawings on a sidewalk
Melting back to dreary gray with the rain