Roy G. Biv, Father of Rainbows
Roy was a bit of a rowdy in his youth on Mount
Olympus. He balked at being a lesser god, a mere device.
Years passed when color flashed only from malice, not joy. Why?
Good question, Roy. For the courage it takes to ask, a body can fly.
By and by, Roy married a nice girl from Queens and had seven children.
If ever he forgets now who he is, he need only look at the faces of his kids:
Virginia, the baby, Ignatius, Bertha, Georgina, Yolanda, Oscar, and Rinaldo.
Vast stretches of time on the mountain top have taught him that life among the
immortals is not all it’s cracked up to be. The fleeting is what lasts the longest.
But don’t hang on—not to good works, name, or keeping up with the Joneses.
Great sums of money cannot replace one’s legacy of love; this spectral gift.
Yes, and nothing makes him happier than the chirp of a small child
on a hill, late in the day, after a summer rain, breathless, calling:
Run, Daddy! Come! Quick! Don’t you see the rainbow?