I pass your home in a slow vermilion dawn, The blinds are drawn, and the windows are open. The soft breeze from the lake Is like your breath upon my cheek. All day long I walk in the intermittent rainfall. I pick a vermilion tulip in the deserted park, Bright raindrops cling to its petals. At five o'clock it is a lonely color in the city. I pass your home in a rainy evening, I can see you faintly, moving between lighted walls. Late at night I sit before a white sheet of paper, Until a fallen vermilion petal quivers before me.
This is like painting and a song - a dirge if you will. The repetition of vermillion at the end is bold and is like the final paint stroke of the poem.
The pigment of vermilion is toxic; is the aspect of toxicity (amid beauty) intended by the poet?