We were beautiful.
Pink in each quintet
We came to give laughter and enjoyment.

We were often pulled and pushed by the wind
We swung back and forth until we let go of each other.
We glided smoothly down
On to the path that some were already covering.
Even on the ground, we were beautiful.

The pink colours brightened the day with sweet charms of spring
We were often stepped on.
We were one with the ground.
We lay on the ground with bright sunlight warming our fingertips.
The feet that crossed us there were many
But we were still beautiful.

Colour, colour, colour.
How precious is this colour?
What would I see if I were to not understand this colour?

I let out my tears for joy and sorrow
Then let them rain down on me for hope and agony.

How am I to rate this colour?
How am I to rate this world?
How could I, some small piece of the world
put numbers on this creation.

When I knit,
I see my life being
twisted and turned
by the perfect hands
of God.
And I realise that he
has a plan for me.

If rain was the result of my tears,
then I would muse on how to regulate this world.
To help farmers?
To drown homes?
To balance this world is a too difficult job for me.
But at the end, I also hope for a rainbow...

These letters. So uniquely
structured, yet I understand
something called:
               'Handwriting'