No bow of seven ever shows
The color it seems no one knows.
Green, red, and yellow don’t come near
To matching with the color clear.
It bends the light and let’s it go.
Sometimes refracting, sometimes no.
A windowpane, the air, a tear
All color life with shades of clear.
Unseen but felt in morning dew,
And in a breath ‘tween me and you.
It has no pretense, has no here,
yet always there, the color clear.
The glass that guards mom’s photograph,
The beauty of my nephew’s laugh,
In everything I hold so dear,
Transparency, that tint called clear.
While rainbows’ colors can delight,
And offer up a welcome sight.
I choose the shade that’s most sincere,
that silent hue, the color clear.