A Flower

(written when I was 8-9)

Its middle was a golden-yellow-brown,

like the sunset made of gold,

with a touch of yellow sun and browny-black,

for the sign of the night coming through,

and like every night,

breaking through the barriers of the day

and letting the street lights take responsibility;

serious ones.

Its petals were the blue of the ocean,

the sky and a lot of things in the world.

But it wasn't any normal blue,

it was the blue of the sky after sunset,

the blue of the ocean in the morning

and the blue of icebergs at midday.

That flower stood out and shone

with all its beauty and magic.

But no one could pick it

or it would lose its magic.