The Boy Who Wouldn’t Stop Painting

A magic brush, he saw on the shore.

The like of which, had never been seen before.

Picking it up, he had an overwhelming urge,

To paint picture after picture all colours to merge.

The brush in his hand, was a permanent fixture;

Painting all surfaces with beautiful pictures.

He tried to put, the paintbrush down,

But the brush just painted on, now, with colour brown.

His splendid pictures could be seen, all over town.

It was getting late, but still The Boy painted on.

His mother saw him in the street, her boy she pounced, upon!

Trying to yank the brush from his hand,

The brush trapped her too, she, unable to stand.

A flash of lightening suddenly struck the sky,

The brush fell, and onto the street did lie,

Then disappeared, never again seen,

‘Twas as though the brush had never been.

But, The Boy’s pictures, by all, are seen.