Morning Colors

He dipped a brush in deep blue ink,
the colors of the sky. He efforts with the brush
were vain to paint her iris
colors God had made.
He studied her face, smooth alabaster, never sun had touched.
Her lips were blush, the color of morning's rising sun.
She smiled and dawn appeared,
t'was nothing he could say.
Had ever love spoken to him,
it whispered on that day.
He wished to paint her every morn',
and not a second waste.
If only time would freeze this once
and she remain a frame, his masterpiece would now be seen, and he could rest in peace.

image property of author

This is my 5 minute freewrite.
Here is the link for today.
iris

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art and flair courtesy of @PegasusPhysics

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