My purpose was only to sit and peel crayons,

But I wanted to test their colors on a page.

So, as I stripped the crayons of their wraps,

I scratched some pigments on a scrap of sun bleached parchment, there.

I watched the Master takes his charcoals and command

A presence on his canvas, and,

His flowers, just in black and white and gray,

Were dowdy and disheveled like the ones

That linger toward the end of May,

And yet their beauty brought a lump into my throat.

I asked him quietly what to write the title as,

And he replied, “Dark Flowers At Sunset.”

-jenn