Mom-
Our home is a gray and white picture you fill
With colors that shine way too bright to stay still.
Paper and lead are just desolate lands,
Yet grand and amazing, like clay in your hands.
The tree is towering shadow at night.
Then you dash it, and flash it, and coat it with light.
The house is wasteland of all that is lost,
But you clear it right out, like the fog on defrost.
The food is a pile of mush in a ball,
Then you turn it to pie, with a touch of the fall.
When anger is raging, and storming with pain,
You meet it head on, and turn it to rain.
When sadness is settling deep in our eyes.
You see it, and show it, and ignore all the lies.
So if ever you feel that we don't really care,
Read this, and you'll see that the love is all there.