One brush loads twin colors,
mixing shades of joy and sorrow.
O’many moons, winters, and summers;
gliding past, present, and morrow.
Unlike Kahlo, Picasso, or Pissaro,
’tis The Unknown sleight of hand.
One brush paints two colors.
It mixes joy and sorrow.
You must one know to the other understand.
The dip of the bone white bowl
looks at hunger like a hole.
Scooping cereal fall,
their shapes, colors, textures all.
They crisp, crackle, and pop,
as stream of white lands atop
Milk filling nook and cranny,
why is that uncanny?
What if milk first went under?
curious minds simply wonder.
Highnesses are rather silly
to have this rule willy-nilly
Silver spoon, wood or stone
oval, round, or shaped a cone.
There’s room in preference,
but set is the sequence.
‘Tis not a matter of laughter,
milk must always come after.
That’s the protocol
in the royal breakfast hall.
‘Tis written in Queen Ma’s decree
prince and princess must agree
Going out of sequence
ends with consequence.
And if it’s milk first and cereal after,
it’s mere milk crowns for wee royals hereafter.
theinkybee.com 