Blue

 I started out tonight, wanting to write about loss and grief... shit that makes me blue. But blue doesn't reflect my sadness. I like blue. As a child it was my absolute favorite color. I could never understand why folks saw sadness in it. When I feel the pangs of grief, they tug at the wet cold greys and the icy mud. 

Fragmentary Blue
Robert Frost (1874 – 1963)

Why make so much of fragmentary blue
In here and there a bird, or butterfly,
Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye,
When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue?

Since earth is earth, perhaps, not heaven (as yet)—
Though some savants make earth include the sky;
And blue so far above us comes so high,
It only gives our wish for blue a whet.  

Blue-Butterfly Day
Robert Frost (1874 – 1963)

It is blue-butterfly day here in spring,
And with these sky-flakes down in flurry on flurry
There is more unmixed color on the wing
Than flowers will show for days unless they hurry.
But these are flowers that fly and all but sing:
And now from having ridden out desire
They lie closed over in the wind and cling
Where wheels have freshly sliced the April mire.