Red Folds In Hand
Rondo
Pink clouds, yellow snow,
Black tea, you and me;
Fuss and fight, fidget nightly,
Gaze at empty distances,
Between us only we the lonely,
We who keep so still —
Our dance leaves marks
Interpreted as messages from beyond,
As pleas for understanding
By those who find our stains.
/ W B Kek
NOTE: This is a spontaneous poem prompted by a friend’s mention of pink snow being better than the yellow. Or worse, perhaps. Can’t recall. Just came out and I’ve no clue as to meaning.
