I want to paint the sun with a golden glow, shining on the colossal field full of flowers through the breeze.

I want to paint the barging traffic through Stourport town like a row of children sprinting to an assembly.

I want to paint the smell of fumes while people are trying to refill their vehicle with fuel.

I want to paint the touch of the breeze off of the passing trucks.

I want to paint the sound of screaming seagulls in the seaside sky.

I want to paint the end of this poem