What I turned in:
I chose to write about one of my favorite colors. You can only see it for about ten minutes in the morning and maybe five on certain evenings and then, only on days with proper conditions. It really doesn't have a name (that I am aware of) but if it were a crayon, perhaps they'd call it Herald.
I am a color, not yet named.
Though a body could be lain to rest never having seen me(if that body were given to much sleep or staying indoors)
I assure you that I am.
I ride the rim of the rising sun and throw back the shades of last night's sky.
With a blast of golden trumpet, I herald the coming of a newborn day.
I bathe the infant in splashes of light and wrap her in blankets of pink and glowing orange.
I have written her name in the clouds with lifting birds, she will be called Possibilty.
I tip-toe from the room, leaving her to dream and wake and do.
I will return in the Golden Hour, to see what she has become.
"Beauty!" I cry, forcing the oversized sun into an inky sea suitcase.
I pull the starry lid behind me, and wink at you from the horizon.
"I'll be back, when the day is new, and I'll have more ideas for you. You'll have things you want to talk about...I will, too."
Attribution Footnote: quote from https://youtu.be/K1Dvq0cDRsI