MY TRUE COLOURS
In the olden days when I was young
And tunes with pretty words were sung,
Love would come, oh me oh my,
'Out of an orange-coloured sky'!
And sunsets with an orange hue
Encouraged lovers to bill and coo.
So the colour orange was much admired
For the passions it inspired.
But dust storms, straight from Australia's heart,
Can't be compared with works of art.
They choke the air, they dim the eyes,
They slow the cars, they paralyze.
Their residue is orange dust
The colour of some ancient rust.
They leave behind their own perfume:
'Eau de Musty' in each room.
This was my first and now it's past.
I hope sincerely it's the last!
More fickle weather here:
I have never been in a dust sturm, it sure looks pretty and I love the poem.
wow. never been in a dust storm...not sure if i want to.
A tornado, I've handled. A dust storm? Never!
i saw pictures of the last one, it was one of the most remarkable things i've ever seen...but messy! Perfect rhymes.
The would indeed leave a layer of grit over every surface. Someone needs to call Spaceballs and send over "Mega Maid".
Post a Comment