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Where do the colors we see arise?
Not from sun’s bright, light guise,
But from its white, split and spun,
Through raindrop prisms, one by one.
A spectrum forged in falling rain,
That spills color on Earth's domain.

Red blazes in autumn’s gaze,
In maple leaf fire and embers haze.
It's rouge in a rose’s velvet flare,
Smeared on dusk and dawn with flair.

Orange glows on apricot and fox coats.
On pumpkin skins and marigolds it floats.
It's the color of fleeting flight,
In between go and woe, out of sight.

Yellow shouts from nodding daffodils,
From golden zest of lemon's thrills.
The hue of bees and cheery canaries.
The lipstick of sand beside the sea.

Blue is ocean's hue and a sigh,
when mood is dark and wry.
Its Forget-me-not's, in gardens weeping,
Blue-jays leaping skyward sweeping.

Indigo beckons twilight to go to night,
To lift a plum to lips, and take a bite.
It's the regal dye of kings and queens,
For clothes fit for their royal scenes.

Violet haunts lavender fields at rest.
Whispers in crocus blooms, moon-blessed.
Lingers in bruises and storm-swept skies.
Closing the curtains, as scene of day, dies.

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