I hold your tiny hand, free you of the guiding stick
and we walk along a bustling street of loud noises.
What is the colour orange? you ask.
It is the warmth that you and I feel when
the rising sun touches our pallid skin.
It is the sweet crunch of the carrots we
nibble on our afternoon walk from school.
It is the aroma that consumes the bakery
where we buy our Sunday morning cream-filled buns.
It is the purr of Batman when he settles in
our lap and silently watches the rain.
It is the tireless bond of the goodnight
kiss which keeps us strong for another day.
and we walk along a bustling street of loud noises.
What is the colour orange? you ask.
It is the warmth that you and I feel when
the rising sun touches our pallid skin.
It is the sweet crunch of the carrots we
nibble on our afternoon walk from school.
It is the aroma that consumes the bakery
where we buy our Sunday morning cream-filled buns.
It is the purr of Batman when he settles in
our lap and silently watches the rain.
It is the tireless bond of the goodnight
kiss which keeps us strong for another day.
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