Trinkets
My Mother’s a lover of purple
From earrings to bracelets and rings
She coos at the sight of a mauve hat
And various violet-y things.
Her amethyst tanzanite jewelry
Adorns her fingers and wrists
If anyone’s wearing “her colour”
Her anger is shown in clenched fists.
My mother looks lovely in bluebell
She shines in French navy and blue
But hyacinth tints and cornflower hints
Are the only shades that will do!
Barry Fairweather lives in Dundee, Scotland and has little experience in poetry other than writing verses for friends. Encouraged by a writing group to put pen to paper he enjoys blending humour, despair, hope and celebration into his work. His website: https://bjfwords.wordpress.com/