The Pink, the Purple and the Sometimes Red

Now there's a new organ under my last left rib

It's pink, then purple and sometimes red

It mistakes my body for its awesome new crib

and yearns to bring back the dead

Like the lungs that breath and the heart that beats

This organ performs its mourning trick

Sometimes it sits quietly in its bloody seat

but sometimes it gets sick

When pink, it asks will I ever see you again?

When purple, it replies not a chance

And sometimes it aches up through the skin

and pleads for a last driveway dance

And when it's red, on your birthday say

when Shania Twain is on the radio, when

it's Christmas or Mother's Day

When someone asks me how you been?

When Nora Roberts puts out a new book,

or Oprah quotes Maya Angelou

For a second, maybe an hour, it hurts to look

because the colors are so faded without you