To a Rainbow
How do you appear in the sky so bright, so perfect, so delicate,
Like the old lace of my mother's wedding dress,
Who painted the colors of your grace,
Like a winding road so high up in the sky,
Running on for miles, never-ending, during the bright rainstorm?
My colors are painted by the children of the world,
Having every color in their finger painting sets blended in between the lines.
The children are angels in Nature's eyes,
Running along my long, winding path,
With fun around each bend.
The rain and the sun are the paint and the brush,
Swiftly sweeping along,
Until my end cannot be seen,
Hidden in the minds of the children.
You know what to do.