Cerulean’s a vibrant hue that sounds so avant-garde;
if it were an aroma, ‘twould be hanging out with nard.
It’s found with fuchsia and chartreuse, out sampling IPAs,
with amaranth and indigo, takes in a Becket play.
It fought with a cetaceous crowd and nearly came up short,
but managed to reduce to ’blue’ their name in lower court.
Give thanks some morphine-addled poet saw it in the skies
and not within the bruises on his muddled lover’s thighs.
Cerulean’s a pigment with the power to compel
a poet to forget himself and fall under its spell.
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