A  bedtime story for rude children,

Poems by Patrick

Memory of my Mother.

when we met or talked or touched
I always  I felt the Blue
for there are many colours. . 
 I felt them all in you.

  I have touched the yellow
 I have held the green
and I have felt the pain of white
when your colours were not  seen

when once I knew your rainbow,
I fondly  grasped the red
I fully owned  your colours
and all my pains were dead .