daphne bobbing up and down
her scanty green boughs hidden
in litmus pink shawl that she donned
in her field by the hill frowning in mist

a shade of grey bathing the span of day
snowdrops giggling with their
conical heads bowed in whitish blush
as they furtively glance at others
standing empty and solemn
as they look upon the sun yawning
in a bed of ashen clouds in the horizon

no crimson waves to surf your eyes
oranges in hand as you spit the seeds
off the pips but no color dappled
the fine hair line where rainbows
used to dine after those paper boat tales