Deepest red like a crimson rose,
Haunting green like a twilit fir,
Liquid jet like the pupil round,
mystic, waiting, there.
Boldest pink like magenta skies,
Grandest blue like a royal robe,
Pearly white like the shining moon,
beauty fine as stars.
Copper bright and sunny joy,
Sparkles in the setting sun,
Dusky violet witchy rays,
Stop one moment - is this true?
Is this magic really you?
Softest sighs of beating hearts
make quite romantic poetry,
and nothing really could compare
to what you bring to hollow lives.
I wonder, though - please pardon me -
for all your splendour, what’s your form?
No one knows; they call you this
and that and gold and bliss.
Snuggle down, I’ll hold you tight,
try to see you through the light.
But if I’m frank, I wonder this:
does it matter much to find you out?
Why ask myself what shape you take when
you’re the song that makes my day?