Small fingers are covered in colors
Dusty and light, but nonetheless bright
She pats the cement
And a smoke-like blur of colorful dust takes flight
Scraping gentle arches with pieces of chalk on her driveway
She hopes it won't rain
Red orange yellow, green blue purple
In awe of the rainbow she made
She stares at the sky, and wonders why
Can't we skip the storm to get to the good part?
Must the good things, with the bad, be washed away?
Is the rain really needed for a fresh start?
Does the sky ever have to be gray?
She knows in her heart, that if the art
Is never cleared away
Her drawings will spread, she knows in her head
She'll run out of space one day
Besides, the rain's the reason every tree around her grew
Maybe old things must make way for the new
Maybe every single color's indebted to blue
She stares at the the sky, thinking of why
We can't skip the storm to get to the good part
And the good things, with the bad, must be washed away
And rain is really needed for a fresh start
At times the sky will have to be gray
Small fingers are covered in colors
Dusty and light, but nonetheless bright
She pats the cement
And a smoke-like blur of colorful dust takes flight
Scraping gentle arches with pieces of chalk on her driveway
She hopes it will rain
So the sky can lift up her art
And show the whole world the rainbow she made