Decorating

The paint is flaking off the walls,
The dirtied colour now appals;
The whole flat cries to be done again,
It's nothing like it looked like when
It first was done, so long ago,
And had a fresh and sparkling glow.
But now it just looks old and tired,
No longer can it be admired.
So I must now myself acquaint
With all the various shades of paint
That one can buy in shops today,
For at this stage I cannot say,
If I want to keep the same,
Or whether maybe I should aim
For something that is far more bold -
Perhaps the ceiling should be gold?
I look at cards - so many hues,
It's really difficult to choose.
I try and think how they would look,
In a room, not in a book,
But somehow hues won't crystalise
In my brain to visualise
How they'd look within the flat,
I'am just a little worried that
I won't  be pleased with how it looks,
If different from it seems in books.
At last I make my final choice;
For years to come I will rejoice
In greenish walls, and ceiling too
Painted in the same light hue.
So now for several weeks you'll find
Though it really is a bind,
Me with paintpot, roller, brush,
Always in a frantic rush,
As I work across each wall,
Being careful not to fall,
Till the tiresome job is done,
And l again can have some fun,
Instead of spending all my time,
Turning everything pale lime.
When at last it's all complete,
I think the job looks very neat,
And consequent on all my zeal,
The flat now has a different feel.