A man named red

Red was a man who had whiskers long and a temper short. He was a man without a home Who worked in the park where I walked every day. He painted pictures from his memory of how he remembered things to look You see, they took ol' reds sight in Vietnam one cold night. I would talk to red (not too long) every day. What ya seeing red, what's the memory of the day? He would pull out a sketch book and show me his thoughts. Once, it was a big bright sun in the corner of the page. Under the sun, blackbirds flying. Under the black bids where a long row of clouds raining, raining stars on top of a boy laying in a field of grass. I thought it looked cool (all these different thoughts mangled into one). Although his placements of some things would be incorrect, I would never tell him. So what cha' think? Beautiful! I replied, "Your thoughts are perfect!" The rain earlier this morning, the birds feeding in the grass under the clouds! Very cool! Red shrugs his shoulders "I never thought of what was happening today. I was thinking back to when I was a child laying in the tall grass that grew in the fields. The fields behind my home. I would watch blackbirds eat while others sang, high up in the trees top.