Childhood lesson – a villanelle

I cannot color in the lines
or hold a crayon in my hand;
my drawings cannot be refined.

“Look mother, see my great design.”
Your frowning face, a reprimand–
I cannot color in the lines.

You clean my art with turpentine;
the lipstick mess seems to expand.
My drawings cannot be refined.

My next attempt at redesign–
my crayon art was in freehand.
I cannot color in the lines.

The sigh, my art has been declined.
The sidewalk art was scrubbed by hand.
My drawings cannot be refined.

I yearn to draw the changing lines
of mountains, trees and feathered bands–
I cannot color in the lines;
my drawings cannot be refined.

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