I see your wings have sprouted, dear,
And, they’ve lovely colours of every sort.

The greens that meet with shimmering blues,
Golden yellows that rival the sun’s,
Reds that yell from teeny corners,
And oranges where the yellows are done.

But, your colours can’t sing from within that jar,
Muffled so loudly - your song.

Though, I see the notes,
So, I know - I know,
You can’t stay in that jar for long.

*06.2011