Morning glory

Sickle in the sky

I toe the line for you.

One star, gut already busted,

swells silently beside it.

Air cold. Sky clear and soft

like a pillow you want to lay

your face on but won’t

because creasing such perfection

would be unforgivable.

For one night a year

they have each other;

beauty is fleeting

yet the memory eternal.

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Ode To Orange.

Orange is a colour,

is a very pretty colour,

is a very witty colour

indeed.

Orange is an orange

that is the colour orange

which is really quite bananas,

indeed.

Orange is a carrot

but not a golden carat

so there really is no connection

to see;

but gold that does spark

can help you see in the dark

like carrot helps a rabbit,

you see.

Orange is the sun

it is our only one

but it also is a paper to read.

This paper gives us tabloid news

intermingled with real truths

about the future of our planet

to read.

Orange is a colour,

is a very pretty colour,

is a very witty colour,

indeed.