Do we stand out,

we in all our yellow-ness?

Different

        from whites and

                  greens?

Or do you see that

                 we wouldn't be

What we are

                 without the

                       greens and           whites?

When you bowed down, and measured

            her alta-feet with your

kisses, and put yellow-full of us on her feet

Was it because she was new

           and different?

Now that she is old to you,

          would her feet stay

barren and unkissed?

Like

        the tree

                   that is leafless

yo yonder?

Can any new autumn

       haunt memories

of golden-yellow-flowered red-lace feet of once beloved?