I like colors, I swear I do.
Lots of them,
Like the purples, reds and blues.
I see them deep, bright sometimes mixed up together in swirls,
Amaranth next to Cerulean and Folly edged with Rose.
So pretty, I must confess,
That sometimes I get carried away by them.
Then I think of all those colors,
And try to figure out if there are enough,
Enough for me, enough for you
And enough to describe all that I see.
I like painting people, To say he is an Olivine and she is a Peach
I decide for myself that the man with a walking stick is a Taupe,
And the girl on the phone is Regalia,
You may find yourself a Quartz when you wake,
A Stizza just by lunch and maybe a Goldernrod before bedtime.
I am usually a Sienna most of the day,
Because I feel happy and sad in equal ways.
I wish I was a Byzantium though,
It is such an attractive shade you know!
But painting ought to be my fault,
Because nobody deserves masking and nobody deserves a judge.
Who’s to say that Tyrian is better than Maize
Or that Wenge looks so blue?
Pink isn’t always endearing and Green isn’t always you.
The effect Sunglow has on vision,
I believe is an asinine overestimation,
But then again, Jazberry Jam is bliss.
I want to know, of all the colors that there are,
How many, who saw them first
(God must be pretty arty)
And where they come from…?
But,
I still think there aren’t enough Electras, Deeps and Coppers
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