Out of the mouths…

My fifth grade poetry foreshadows a lifelong love of color and [most] things natural.

“Purple, golden, yellow, red

Rising high above my head

then they turn to darkish blue

the colors go to the earth

pulled by a magnet

held by glue

What is this thing? How can it be?

these colors that were high above me

they’re the same for a moment,

they’ve come and gone

I know it’s strange, but I’m not wrong.

What is this thing? I bet

you’ll guess it is the . . .”