In an ocean of leaves,  sunflowers laugh
as they splash each other and sing the praises
of their creator,  a soon-to-be one-eared
character with fiery whiskers and a talent
for going off on tangents.  Drops palettes,
breaks brushes, and takes color to the hilt,
then barrels on. The sky is a searing blue,
the sun trumpeting that she, not that interloper
whose initials are V. V. G.,  is the one dyed
the flowers to match her best hot-weather
dress.  Here is a recipe for the color sunflower:
sprinkle two barrelfuls of lemon zest into a vat
of store-bought butter, then stir in a few pears, 
peaches, and apricots (mashed).  Not too many! 
You want the mixture to be light and bright. 
Got time to pulverize a sheaf of wheat
or some banana skins and extract the color,
might want  to add a bit of that.  (Some cooks
use tumeric. Up to you.)   Before exhibiting
your work, check with the sun to make sure
she approves.  Watch closely.  The wink
comes and goes in a flash.  Get the go-ahead,
display le piece de resistance on sea-green
china curlicued and bordered with gold.
                     Bon chance! 

            (c) Phyllis Jean Green, 2010

                  All Rights Reserved