Rainbow

‘There’s a pot of treasure at rainbow’s end,’

a young one is told, tries to find it but fails.

And other things baffle: Stop! Red light,

Orange shouts ‘Wait’; Yellow sunshine burns;

keep off Green grass under Blue sky;

old ladies wear Purple and Violet. Why?

Please tell me, who owns the rainbow?  

Is it Harold be thy name?

What a bright world, color coded! Crimson

tulips and parrots; Golden daffodils, lions;

hollyhock Nigra, Black panther; White dryad

and foxes on Tundra, all reminding that

‘Red and yellow, black and white,

Each is precious in his sight,’ as children sing.

Pink flamingos flutter to the music,

grey camels march, brown moths

are semi-quavers, striped bees buzz

in harmony: music of the spheres

by omniscient composer — water into wine,

zygote cells to persons, little, large, small

or tall, sun-tanned, pale or in between,

each one unique, potential star

within the color wheel of Planet Earth.

The One who holds the blood-stained keys

of grace and of eternity — He himself the true,

enduring treasure — Hallowed be his name.

He made every hue. He owns the rainbow.

New Zealand born Mary Trim, who writes as Marye Trim, has a PhD in English Literature (Loughborough, UK, 1998) and studied journalism at the University of Queensland, Australia. She has authored five published books and hundreds of inspirational articles, stories and poems and was a newspaper columnist for nine years, while also working as missionary teacher in India and Thailand. She feels called to writing ministry and sees herself as akin to those “Out of Zebulon, they who handle the pen of the writer” (Judges 5:14).

Photo by Elizabeth Gottwald on Unsplash

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