Make me one of these:
And surround me in yellow.
“yellow cocktail music”
– F. Scott Fitzgerald
Hunger conquers. Love considers.
As life concedes and pain bewilders.
Anguish strips us of our shielding.
Cold. Relentless. Ever-wielding.
Yet we let the anguish pass
Forget, and hide amongst the mass.
Even I who swore to never
Seek cold comfort, cruel forever;
Even I found yellow rest,
In the days upon my nest,
Long descended from the sky,
Angry when the night asked why.
It had been hated. Degraded.
Hardly heart-defying. Shaded.
Hard warmth. For a moment’s pleasure.
Mindless. Careless. Lady’s leisure.
And yet the strongest of the weak
Can break in sobs and fade grow meek.
None can tell you your belief.
None may soothe you in your grief.
None can tell you where to go.
None but you can ever know.
When you learn that, when you see,
It may break your heart in three.
Yet ’tis not bad to dance alone.
May your eyes remain your own.
Written by Anna Williams at age 17
in Prague, Czechoslovakia
That will do for today, until I find a camera to depict my gorgeous Christmas decorations – think glowing snowballs, dancing angels and vintage tree hangings. Until then, think yellow.