Strolling into day,
To just meet yellow
Allows one to say
“You’re a friend, hello.”
Sunflowers do their
Dance in the light breeze
Pollen drifts on air
So close to the trees.
Yellow means to Sky
Caution and wonder.
When I don’t know why,
I sit and ponder.
To think to slow down
Or see a warning.
It’s like a new crown,
Glowing and warming.
Yellow makes the rest
Of the colors feel
Envy. It’s the best
For making the seal.
It’s an approval
That’s not the green one.
It’s the removal
Of what is not fun.
What are green faces
But those of the ill?
Happy are places
That yellow will fill.
About the Creator
Skyler Saunders
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Smartystan
Chanda sent home money every two weeks. In a small village in India, she deposited money into the bank account of her aunt and uncle who sent her to live in America. The place seemed so remote, almost cut off from the rest of the country. There, a festival took place where participants hurled cow eliminations at each other. The muddy, mucky sense of it had been known for centuries. Locals tied it to an ancient god who they believed restored people’s health with the cow plops. During the festival, thick patties passed through the air and smushed into the bodies and faces of those rollicking around in the filth.
By Skyler SaundersExclusive • 5 days ago
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