Literature
Ask Me To Describe The Perfect Spring
Once upon a perfect Spring;
it is of this my fingers sing.
A tale of bold and a tale of new,
that out from the dirt the flowers grew.
Yes as the colors grow from white to pink,
I shall paint a picture now with ink.
The world in all its wonder still,
I can watch from my window sill.
I try to capture the colors with words.
I try to describe the sound of the birds.
Sadly, though, without having heard them, you can't comprehend
Not the coo of a dove nor the flute of a wren
Without ever having seen the colors, you couldn't understand.
I can't tell you how they look, I can't describe the color red.
I can't say the green of the grass is overwhelm