The Painter

I see you galavanting around Europe like a pony.

That smile so big, your eyes so bright.

With that pretty blonde-haired girl. She’s really beautiful-looking like you.

I can see that you love her, in the way you take her picture.

I bet you two have deep philosophical discussions in a language I don’t know.

She loves your loss for words, and in turn you paint her face.

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