The colours
were having a drink.
Purple was getting
half pissed
& looking hilariously more serious
than ever.
“It’s like I’m invisible! ”
cried White.
Red said:
“Oh, I don’t know...
...I think you’re a bit of alright! ”
“No one gives me a second glance! ”
moaned Grey.
“It’s all so black & white! ”
“You should try to be me! ”
blurted out Black.
“Typecast...that’s what I am! ”
“And yet I am
the happiest colour in town! ”
“I can’t help feelin’ blue! ”
chipped in blue.
“It’s in my nature!
But I ain’t made out like
I’m made out to be! ”
The other colours said nothing.
They had fallen asleep.
It was the same every week!
Stick a bunch of colours
in a room
& it’s
moan... moan... moan!
The artist
smiled
loved them all
just for being themselves.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Oh, how wonderfully your mind works! I love it, that the artist loves them, no matter what...but have you considered this...what would the colors (excuse me, the COLOURS! !) think when the artist starts making purple by mixing red and blue? What would yellow say when mixed with green, or white with red to make a cheerful PINK? Only the mind of Darling Donall Dempsey would back into a poem this way, and I thank you! ! LYN