The Little Old Lady

When a little old lady,
With her little old chair,
Marches to the hillside
Where the flowers do share
Their secrets of joy
And their oaths of joy,
The little old lady
Forgets past remorse.

She takes up her easle
And the pulls out her paint.
Then the little old lady,
With her little old chair,
Marches to the hillside
Where the flowers do share
Their secrets of beauty
And their oaths of color.
So the little old lady
Paints comfort there.

She paints for the wars.
She paints for the peace.
She paints for those
Who keep losing sleep.
She paints the flowers,
Then she marches home.
So the little old lady
Was never alone.

March 9, 2017