Squire uses a freshly painted wall to trace a whole life, or perhaps a home, from newness to neglect. The poem moves in three short stanzas, and each one catches the paint at a different stage: wet, dry, and peeling.
In the first stanza the speaker sounds delighted. The lavender blue and green are "the prettiest colors ever seen," a bit of childlike wonder at something brand new. By the second stanza the mood has cooled. Crayons, pencils, and burns have left their marks, and the speaker blames "life and its twists and turns." This feels more accepting than sad, as if wear is simply the proof that someone lived there. The last stanza turns bleak. The paint is "old, worn out," the drywall is bare, and "no one is left to care." The speaker seems to feel a quiet grief about being forgotten. The simple rhymes and short lines make the fading feel plain and unavoidable.