For the dverse prompt
Petaled and feathered gold
The world is yellow,
studded dandelions and buttercup ditches,
the scramble of creeping Jenny,
celandine-swathed shadows by the stream.
Blue gold, sky-fallen,
paint poured from the sun
rolls in a wave from morning to evening,
filling buckets of flashing water,
dancing in the grubby skirts of a baby’s dress,
and deep in a kestrel’s eye.
I watch for spring, to bring swallows,
roses, and the goldenest yellow of all,
glittering in glorious oriole plumes.