In Defense of Brown

Delicate shades of brown

in the softened ground 

Teeming life. 

In decay, as the leaves begin to rot

In your mother's bubbling broth 

The colour of the distant sands

The back of my father's hands. 

Yet brown is no one's favourite colour... 

For it is not red with passion

Or pinkened cheeks

As cool as blue

Or green with greed

Or glittery gold...

But it sits in the undergrowth 

Holding up our foundation. 

We hide in the deep dark wood

And eat overly ripened fruit

The rainbow may brighten the earth

But brown holds it firm