The Walls are Yellow

Since seeing you last I have myself found
nicely situated in the room with yellow walls.
Whatever other color they may have been
before you left,
I cannot tell.
For now they are decidedly
that color perfectly placed between
orange and green,
not so brilliant as a nursery or daycare
nor so dark as the seventies.
No, it is simply
A beaming, pleasant  yellow,
that of sunshine when you laugh,
or the eight o’clock morning
when the trees first are budding,
far from white in which you can haunt me from afar.
It is the room with yellow walls.
But the memory of you
both haunts and cheers,
distracting me from the todays
and long tomorrows
in the room with yellow walls.

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