Smudges on the wall.
Memories of laughter.
Echos in the hall.
Memories linger.
The print of a little finger.
Covered by the brush stroke.
Still there are little folk.
Bright and shining.
New Blue.
Yet underneath
This latex sheath
Lies the whispers of a child.
In my old home there were 35 years of accumulatad 'children's' masterpieces. Mine, as a child, and then those of my children. Some were painted over, but some I just didn't have the heart to cover.
Uradia11:22 AM EST