The sound of colour

Jane Dougherty Writes

Painting by Robert Delaunay


Brittle as ice cracking,

Cool, bluebell-nodding shade

Steeples pointing to the sky,

Is the sound of blue.

Soft and delicate,

Newly opening leaves

And songbirds singing in the hedge,

The sound of green.

Yellow tones sing in the sand

Trickling between fingers

And river water rippling among kingcups.

Breeze blowing sunset clouds

And the scent of roses

Is the sound of pink.

Autumn leaves crunch underfoot

With the crisp sound of orange.

But raw anger,

Swirling passion in flamboyant dresses,

Blood on the ground,

Snow spattered and stained with hunger,

And a million marching boots,

Is the sound of red.

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