Agniya Barto
The Painter

Gran’dad and I rose early
To paint the garden-shed.
The sky was pale and pearly.
“Now take it slow,” he said.

“First you scrape the walls — don’t rush! —
Then you'll be free to wield your brush.”

So up and down and to and fro
My laden paint-brush flew.
We worked away like billy-ho,
The shed looked good as new.

And when at last the work was done
And Gran’dad stowed his tools away,
I thought it would be super fun
To go out painting every day.

To have a hundred different pots
And splash them round without restraint,
To colour everything we’ve got:
That's how I'd like to paint...

Look, there’s a drop left in the pail,
A tiny little scraping!
I'll get up early without fail
To do a bit more painting.

Translated by Avril Pyman