In its barley bed.

What is blue? the sky is blue

Where the clouds float thro’.

What is white? a swan is white

Sailing in the light.

What is yellow? pears are yellow,

Rich and ripe and mellow.

What is green? the grass is green,

With small flowers between.

What is violet? clouds are violet

In the summer twilight.

What is orange? why, an orange,

Just an orange!

Christina Rossetti

First Morning

First Morning

I was there on that first morning of creation

when heaven and earth occupied one space

and no one had heard of the human race.

I was there on that first morning of creation

when a river rushed from the belly of an egg

and a mountain rose from a golden yolk.

I was there on that first morning of creation

when the waters parted like magic cloth

and the birds shook feathers at the first joke.

John Agard

A Feather from an Angel

A Feather from an Angel

Anton’s box of treasures held

a silver key and a glassy stone,

a figurine made of polished bone

and a feather from an angel.

The figurine was from Borneo,

the stone from France or Italy,

the silver key was a mystery

but the feather came from an angel.

We might have believed him if he’d said

the feather fell from a bleached white crow

but he always replied, ‘It’s an angel’s, I know,

a feather from an angel.’

We might have believed him if he’d said,

‘An albatross let the feather fall.’

But he had no doubt, no doubt at all,

his feather came from an angel.

‘I thought I’d dreamt him one night,’ he’d say,

‘but in the morning I knew he’d been there;

he left a feather on my bedside chair,

a feather from an angel.’

And it seems that all my life I’ve looked

for that sort of belief that nothing could shift,

something simple yet precious as Anton’s gift,

a feather from an angel.

Brian Moses

The Treasures

The Treasures

Who will bring me the hush of a feather?

‘I,’ screeched the Barn Owl. ‘Whatever the weather.’

Who will bring me the shadows that flow?

‘I,’ snarled the Tiger. ‘Wherever I go.’

Who will bring me the colours that shine?

‘I,’ shrieked the Peacock. ‘Because they are mine.’

Who will bring me the crash of the wave?

‘I,’ sang the Dolphin. ‘Because I am brave.’

Who will bring me the secrets of night?

‘I,’ called the Bat. ‘By the moon’s silver light.’

Who will bring me the scent of the flower?

‘I,’ hummed the Bee. ‘By the sun’s golden power.’

Who will bring me the waterfall’s gleam?

‘I,’ sighed the Minnow. ‘By river and stream.’

Who will bring me the strength of the small?

‘I,’ cried the Spider. ‘When webs line your wall.’

Who will bring me the shiver of snow?

‘I,’ howled the Wolf Cub. ‘When icicles grow.’