It's much too nice a day

     For poetry, that last

     Refuge of the deviled tongue;

     Much better a bissel borscht,

     A touch of dollop, a bit

     Of greenery to remind one

     Of the cruxability packed

     For journeys such as this;

     Loop-threading the day through

     A camel's eye, we emerge at

     Some shore fresh from Dufy's brush.

     How odd to have forgotten the look

     Of color. I'll bring you a bouquet

     Of incarnadines, sorrels, and

     One stray umber,

     Lest we grow too bright.