Dyeing

by oosh@gmx.net

What colour shall we have this season, madam?

Surreal green, for the fun-loving sophisticate? At the night-club door
They'll turn from their sweethearts to take your arm.

Or perhaps straw-blonde for the coming summer? Sweet and natural with those
red, red lips
They'll be fighting over you.

Or maybe a seductive copper-red? With that gentle, knowing smile of yours
You'll have them flocking.

No.

I've known the green hope of fifty springs;
Known the golden languor of fifty summer suns;
Fifty autumns, red in their stately senescence.

No, I'll have grey.
Grey is for wisdom,
Grey for the fog of memory,
Pale, pale grey for the clouds soon,
So soon to part overhead.
