Inside the pocket of my shorts it’s dark and not too clean,
But you might just decipher the colours red and green.
There’s a length of string that’s red or faded nearly pink
A piece of a tangelo skin that’s sweeter than you think
A dandelion head there is, that’s rather sad and squashed
A blade of grass that’s all green now but changes when it’s washed
A toffee wrapper, blue as blue, that’s sticky-d up the dark
As well a stone of purplish-grey I found when in the park.
Rainbow colours but oh no, not the rainbow with its glow
Far too dirty, far too dank, it all needs cleaning to be frank.

Hard edges, cooling to the touch. I take it out and rub it clean
Angled just right toward the sun, its transparency is seen
In coloured bands breaks up the light,
and then stream through the colours bright
A wondrous pleasure to bestow
the prism bears its own rainbow