On
the hill lives the Monochrome Man,
The
one who sees the world a different way,
In
black and white and shades of gray.
His
complexion matches his vision,
A
dull affair with not a shade of color,
Some
would even say he looked a bit sour.
Every
day he would go into town,
To
tend to his shop, the only paint store around.
He
never spoke unless spoken to,
and
limited his responses to a word or two.
He
went about his day like a man broken and bent,
A
dark cloud loomed above him wherever he went.
Children
feared him,
Grown
ups avoided him.
He
ate, slept, and spent his days alone.
But
he wasn’t always like that, you see.
The
older folks remember a time
When
he was a man smiling, happy and carefree.
