Poem By Donna Lee Womack
There's a man upstairs, he's something Red.
He's just that type to be mislead.
The lady below, she's something Brown.
The one who has the curious frown.
The girl downstairs could be a Green;
A 'green' to me means never seen.
The rest I know, I'll call them White;
they're pretty much what I call bright.
I say I could be said for Gray...
to pass for evening, night, or day.
I'd rather be Coloful.