Watercolour

Too often moved Too forgiving Could never be accused Of not ever showing willing But this is no place for a heart Its colours overspilling Pack them all up with the stars And the dying art of living Life sits here getting shorter As my paintbrush sits in water The ancient sunken shipwreck Of some used to be explorer And lifeless is the water In which the paintbrush steeps In its snow globe of a jam jar In to which each colour leaks In to a watercolour sky On a watercolour night I cry watercolour tears From my watercolour eye Lying in the still My colours weep as willows Greyish green and pale blue Down my cheek and paint my pillow Would you look at the Pounce ready energy Of that cat amongst the tall grass? All tail and arse Head down back arched It teases to the last And seizing its moment It looks up from its dance to ask Where is the orange Flame in my eye? That lightning yellow It's brilliant surprise? Oh starry starry night Where are you taking all the light? Now look me in my Watercolour eye and tell me Did you really fight it? I mean did you really try? I grieve Chasing falling leaves Saying what you really mean and And other dying breeds And how can I keep This colour in my cheeks When nobody bleeds As deep a red as me? Too often moved Too forgiving Could never be accused Of not ever showing willing But this is no place for a heart Its colours overspilling Pack them all up with the stars And the dying art of living