It's the beautiful things
We like,
Those of us
Who were deprived of color
In the early years.
It is not the greens we miss
So much
As it is chartreuse,
We decorate our halls with it,
Never opening our shades
For anything, but the most
Colorful of sunsets,
Tea in our dainty cups
To accent our conversations.
Dainty words
For the dainty days
We stumble through snow blind
And unkind.
Our smiles held tightly in our hands,
Hats on our heads
While the nightly prayer
Is said
And always with yellow flowers
In a blue vase
In the very center
Of the table.
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