If it takes a dollop of Dutch courage
to French kiss an English rose
would it make a lily-livered
Indian giver look down his nose
but with Yiddish chutzpah
as a Spanish fly on the wall
and luck o' the Irish
you could Australian crawl
and yet the Chinese fire drill
it's still a safe bet
and a Mexican standoff
are not Russian roulette
but who'd deliberately open the door
for a Portuguese man o' war
I look around me and all I see are colors
but wonder if they matter at all
for I see the color of all of these wonders
but still cant afford to call
so I have to ask has color mattered
since the day I was born
or is the grey just a color that seems to have splattered
the color of bleeding the norm
it sounds like everything and yet tastes of none
opposites blending under the sun
a Mexican standoff between all the colors
but only the grey would run
it sounds of the freeway and jackhammers at work
without any leeway or quarks
its unmitigated and yet agitated
but the grey will still leave its marks
its the beginning of every and the end of all
mixed all together in one
it can pick you up then leave you to fall
until finally the grey is undone
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