An Explosion Of Colour

We made a model, architecture students make models,
it was brown plywood, monochrome, okay for holiday hotels;
my wife is brown, I lived in apartheid, it was just my fate,
not the kingpin, I often regarded myself as second rate.

I was glad I was english, the motherland they said,
not always much colour, often dull rather than red;
I took colour with me, when you wore a turquoise cloud,
the day was brightened when you stood out from the crowd.

When you walked in the room, then the sun came with you,
in flashes of floating gold which were made of ormolu;
my art teacher said that I arrived at genius by mistake,
like a silver sword when excalibur rose from the lake.

I took the paint box, when things were dull and grey,
put a rainbow in your hair, having sunshine every day.