A vibrant tale brushed upon the wall, where stories of gods and men stand tall. Ancient colors whisper from their frame, a still life that time cannot tame.

Many years ago, children would gather round me every Saturday morning, breakfast in hand, whilst I animated their day.

I see all around, though that’s not my task, I sit on a wrist for convenience, you ask. I give you a detail tied to this place, one AU away shifts my measured pace.

A game made for kings To test one’s whit You pull the strings But Sometimes it makes you throw a fit

I can be in your garden. Very close to lettuce. I can be on a deck, to block partial, vendettas. I’m usually found by various vines. Through my windows and crosses, Nature weaves its design.