I want to paint the crystal-clear sky in the summer morning of April.

I want to paint the gentle soft sway of the nearby trees in an autumn breeze.

I want to paint the crisp clean pages of a new book to enjoy in a rainy winters’ day.

I want to paint the sound of the scarlet leaves crunching under my vibrant blue trainers.

I want to paint the sign of new life sprouting out of the moist mud of spring.

I want to paint the talkative noise of the vibrant birds in spring.

I want to paint the busyness of the shops on a frosty black Friday in winter.

I want to paint the sun’s heat smiling upon travellers coming from far and wide.

I want to paint the end of this poem