Unlike the color of luminescent fire,
Which one would unquestionably admire,
Or the shade of a shimmering crown,
My hair is conventionally, unremarkably brown.

The color of grimy, muddy sludge,
Through which people squish and squash as they trudge,
And curse these rather unfortunate hues,
For staining their new and now dirtied shoes.

But brown can be many other things
Like melted chocolate, hot coffee, and birds’ wings,
The color of nature, the organic earth
The ground that we stand on in all of its worth

Brown can be sweetness, or beauty, or strife.
Brown is the bark on the tree of life,
From which all of existence has unfurled,
And brown is my eyes, which see the world.