Box of Colors
by Joan Luther

Inside the box, every color waited
To be chosen for a grand contest.
Each challenged the other to provide
A plethora of colors to the picture
That was in my head.

Out of the box, I walked along an unknown path
By the woods without a road or walkway.
An old roll of barbed wire rested against
A vintage oak tree, around the base,
ready to be uncoiled.

A few remaining fence posts, scattered in a breeze,
Pause in the sun’s diminishing rays.
The top of each post carries a growth
Of an unclaimed color, neither green nor
Gold, not brown or beige.

The lens on my camera couldn’t capture
Sunlight as it waved goodnight to the
Fence posts that once stood strong enclosing
A pasture, the picture that nature now offers,
Outside the box of colors.


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