Well, Dad, I’ve gotta say:
Life for me isn’t a perfect painting.
It’s got messed up edges,
And wrong colors,
And pieces torn off,
And spaces with nothing at all---
Deteriorating.
But I try to keep up,
I’ve been fixing,
And mixing colors,
And washing brushes,
And occasionally falling apart
Where there is nothing left to paint.
So, Dad, don’t assume it’s perfect.
Don’t think it’s terrible either.
‘Cause I’m still trying.
Don’t you give up on me now---
For I’m still working on this painting of mine,
I’m still working hard,
And life for me still isn’t a perfect painting.