a painting.

A boy's father died when he was nine,

And his memories were made of what he could find.  

In his young age, the boy was frantic, 

of looking through the suspicious attic. 

For each night, there were creaks and moans, 

which made him think he wasn't alone. 

Yet confidence arose, at age fourteen, 

 to walk across the attic beams. 

Despite the darkness, he found loads, 

letters, hats, and drawers of clothes. 

Pencils with tips of sharpened led, 

in the corner, a carefully preserved bed. 

A plethora of paintings, nailed to the wall, 

showed his father's most treasured skill of all. 

But the boy looked intently at a corner, 

as fear caused his head to burn warmer. 

For the corner of a painting surely showed, 

That it was only fashioned a day ago. 

#hannelorebrun