Tulips are red, philosophy is grey - says Dèr Mouw

I’m comfortably ensconced in my arm-chair,

the sun-drenched red-plush table cloth close by;

unread I let Planck’s quantum theory lie –

my life’s prime scientific aim – and stare:

for I see tulips, see a mighty storm

of flames both light and dark; before I know it,

my hand’s a hare in silhouette – I show it

nibbling and munching from the blazing swarm;

and the front oblong of a match-box blurs

into a patch of hyacinthine blue,

with hazy silver lustres, as if dew

sifted across the field like fresh spring spray...

I start at this my sudden thought, perverse:

tulips are red, philosophy is grey.