Another piece for you

Impressions of Beauty

There have been colors trapped in here
Before the dawn of time,
Before the spirits last were here,
Before the scheme of rhyme.

I’ve seen the creeping ponds of blue
That mingle on the floor
With creamy wings of swans that knew
Each signal gone before.

The yellow frost in fields of corn
Have melt to stones of green,
That gaze with passion, gaze with scorn
Upon the view, obscene.

And little spoons of childhood
Recall the blooming rose
That spins her red in soil good,
Her scents invade the nose.

Orange sits on windowsills
And orange soon may rot.
For while he sat, so ever still,
A dismal cold he caught.

The muggy bogs are filled with brown—
A muddy, messy sort—
That taints even a pagans crown
While oft disguised as sport.

And white be bold, and white be pure,
Hear now your lavish bells;
The little girl that carts manure
Lives only ‘cause it sells.

Black is bitter in revival
And terminates the day,
With sounds of dusks sweet survival
A song of nonny-neigh.

And round about the fireplace
Does Violet sing of woe,
Her lilting songs of commonplace
Rise over common throe.

Aqua pillars and marine glass,
Yet visions too must soon be passed.