Colour

She sits atop the sunset, 

She sits inside our veins, 

She hangs high from the trees, 

She shows the worst of pain

She warns us of danger,

And flickers in Hestia’s hearth, 

She runs out from gashes, 

With us from the start

She is there in everything, 

In all but those blue blooded, 

She’s written into fairytales, 

About girls whose heads are hooded, 

She’s found on fruit, 

Sat high up in the leaves, 

Apples, cherries, raspberries, 

The juices well received