She owns the world, with a paint brush
Which caress lifes’ obstacles with an overpowering;
‘It is well.’
October, November which bring rainy days,
She picks out the lilac to frame the grey
and rain purple rain
So the roads, with confetti celebrate our way.
She speaks in metaphors of a brighter tomorrow
for those who do right,
for rewards for toil.
She plants seeds, winged or bulbs,
And brings to life fruit and flowers.
She rears rainbows, from the short rain showers.
She loves endlessly,
boundlessly, colour blind.
She is free
to see good in any place
That anyone could find.
I am half her, she gave life to me,
And for that,
I am grateful eternally.