Dirt brown washes in with roof top shingle gray.
Arms they are , long, slender arms.
Growing out of each, is another arm
and another arm
and another
and another.
Each growing out shorter and more slender.
Each a part of the same being yet,
Each has its’ own mind.
A mind with the same goal.
“GROW”
So delicate these arms are.
Pushed so easily by the wind.
That won't stop them though.
No, they will grow.
They grow and grow and grow.
As they grow the arms will embrace the wind and sway in the most elegant way.
Then when these long slender arm reach their goals end, they will grow again.
They will grow a hand.
A hand with fingers flat and pointed oval shaped.
Unlike the arms the fingers will be green.
A green that is as if a paintbrush mixed a lime and seaweed into one.
Now one day whether the arms know it or not it’s fingers will change.
Its’ fingers will change colors.
Colors of an unorthodox bipolar rainbow.
Then when the colors of the this rainbow reach an end the fingers will fall.
Each and every one will fall, fall,  fall.
That is okay though because the time will come when
those fingers will
GROW
again.