The Orange Notebook

Thoughts poured out in ink on paper, in ink so blue and black and red,

This notebook orange told a story, of one life that was seldom read.

The letters blue read times of sorrow, the letters black – a time of dread,

But letters red spoke of times happy, when life seemed like a wonderland.

The lines of read were what was there on the beginning sheets of orange book,

Then lines of blue and black so sadly appeared with a dark cold look.

Sometimes amidst the lines of sorrow appeared lines of blazing red,

They may have come from days so sour, or led for pages red ahead.

They all told stories, poems, essays, of one forgotten single soul,

That all the while lived lives of wonder, a single tail of life bestowed.

A thread of cool and glistening snow, that paved the life of this lone soul,

A thread in blue and black and red, that by no means made that life bad.

At least during the first few pages, when red was all that lay ahead.

When snow was still awaiting future, when snow had not appeared yet.

That was the story of the orange book that told a life never quite read.

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