One
is orange, the color of Sun
as she sets and rises.
Two
is blue, a hue Sky fakes
for inattentive irises.

Three
is the olivescent green
of a certain stand of tree.
Four
is a dour English colour,
Marmite and chocolate fudgey.

Five
is alive with unexpected yellow
like engine oil from the can.
Six
is a squeal of teal from K-Poppers,
nail varnish on a manniquin.

Seven
is the purple of mountains dying
from sheer far and away.
Eight
stars in better dead than red,
lends reddening its agency.

Nine
draws a line between lavender and mauve.
Meanderish, though, like a lazy river.
Ten,
not least of numbers, is least colorish.
Call it white, like scalp beneath a combover.

(c) 2021 JMN