Smell of wax
strikes nostrils first,
before eyes even register
Red hogs the eye,
fills all the pupil space:
Fill me with lipstick kisses!
Then yellow, shining cheery,
tries to wither the green.
Could put my hands in the green
grass wrapped around my toes.
Can you tell orange’s not a fav?
Skipped it in the rainbow, I did.
Never been sure why,
though sherbet’s pale is nice enough.
Love thistle and orchid for smiles,
spring green for life,
plum for “I know who I am,”
but without the arrogance of purple.
Oh, and peach for cheeks to brush
with more kisses and true blue
for hydrangeas growing
in sandy acidic soil.
Ah, precious ones, silver and gold
shine again from the center,
but they lie unused mostly;
the glitter tends to shed.
Maroon for blood running through,
apricot for my skin,
chestnut and green for eyes,
white, not dark brown for hair (sigh!).
A rainbow of waxy creation
to draw me and my world;
I put on my nightdress and draw,
like Harold and his purple crayon.
Someday when I recover childhood
I’ll draw me a window, like Harold,
with moon and stars, and a little boat
to sail my reality with.
Someday, when I grow young.
© 2011 Joanne Sprott