Regret

Picking up the paintbrush,
A drop of gold
Narrates my life
And a story unfolds.

A girl over there
Dips hers into green
Painting out nature
And the beauty she’s seen.

A boy about ten
With radiant beams
Picks up his paintbrush
And shares his own dreams.

I stare at my own brush,
Then had it dyed
And too late, I realized
The paint had dried.