Prompt challenge: Use at least two yellow things in a poem without using the word "yellow."
My response takes the path of dawn—where a golden globe rises in the east and honey spills through windowpanes, chasing away the hauntings of the night.
Hauntings of the night,
melt when golden globe rises,
through the eastern skies,
honey spills through windowpanes
and flowers tilt to face it.
Linking with TankaTuesday
Welfare unto all
Rab Rakha
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Since every thought is a seed, I am looking forward to a delicious harvest.