As A Child

I would draw You girlhood pictures,
scribbling sharp pencils on paper wood
Little then, how could it be understood,
time would repaint with mature scriptures

Flowers and flags coloring You brave,
asking, who is this man in a rocky grave ?
Don’t know honey, just color between the lines,
a same old song, i heard a good few times

Still, what was designed was made to meet
“I will write My Words on a blank sheet”
Your mystery touch tells, now run free,
with kisses of love You portrait me

Don’t care anymore about fresco’s loss,
only to be carried by the arms of the cross
With hues as bright, ceaseless yearns as wild,
Your beauty draws me, the full grown child