Grey is the colour
Of the first bare branches
Knotted, knurled, awkwardly distorted
Yet borne entirely of nature
Silver is the colour
Of the lining to the clouds
In the blue and windy sky
Which waves in the new day
Red is the colour
Of the bricks which built
Mine and my neighbours
House of love
Pink is the colour
Of my complexion
After returning, invigorated
By my morning bath
Blackish-brown is the colour
Of the tall four-trunk tree
Which wobbles slowly
Unsteadily, in the rising breeze
Empty is the colour
Of the stillness of the day
Yesterday’s wind and rain
Have moved on, elsewhere
