Strings Of Nine Separate Thoughts

Howard, once thought to be mellow,

was considered a coward, ever yellow.

Green would be the thoughts of Bengi,

my dog wanting attention, ever so envy.

The color of brown both smile and frown,

doesn’t look good on a laughless clown.

Fred was dead,

and around him the blood ran a deep red.

Purple?

Think odd terms such as pancakes with maple surple.

To make love work, there should be a person times two,

without it, the private world can grow cold and icy-blue.

There is an essence of bright white.

so often in death, tis the calling from the light.

Life tends to give the human soul no slack,

and feelings of frustration leaves a mind dark, in the black.

Of all the colors, my favorite of all time;

the color of sand, it’s gravelly tan, thus ends this rhyme.