I always see Tuesday and the number '3' as yellow (synesthesia-related...), so this seems the perfect poem for today Tuesday, 03/03. In celebration of the primrose, via yellow in all its vibrancy, here's some zest from Mr Williams.
Primrose - William Carlos Williams
Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow!
It is not a color.
It is summer!
It is the wind on a willow,
the lap of waves, the shadow
under a bush, a bird, a bluebird,
three herons, a dead hawk
rotting on a pole-
It is a piece of blue paper
in the grass or a threecluster of
green walnuts swaying, children
playing croquet or one boy
fishing, a man
swinging his pink fists
as he walks-
It is ladysthumb, forget-me-nots
in the ditch, moss under
the flange of the carrail, the
wavy lines in split rock, a
It is a disinclination to be
five red petals or a rose, it is
a cluster of birdsbreast flowers
on a red stem six feet high,
four open yellow petals
above sepals curled
backward into reverse spikes-
Tufts of purple grass spot the
green meadow and clouds the sky.