Not the red of gore, Not the blue of the salty seas, Not the black of the death of day… but yellow. No, not the yellow of the rising sun, not the yellow of sunflowers and marigolds, not the yellow of confetti and Lego bricks… more like a fading bruise of broken veins, dried, wilted grass in autumn, and an old photograph, yellowing, ageing, dying. Yellow smiles, genuinely yet feebly, mourning the loss of the joys that can never stay.