Its the golden rays of sunshine
Which streams through yellow curtains
Which makes them even yellower
Which is impossible
I'm certain
Although this poetry
Is not on old yellow pages
I'm sure that when your older
They'll even smell of old sages
I'm not even halfway through
And it is not making sense
But hey
I'll improvise
I'm glowing with confidence
Now this poem is supposed to be yellow
But this is all you'll get
Yellow
Yellow
Yellow
I'll succeed
Don't you forget
