Yellow. Fragile. Aromatic. Eye-livening. From the daintiest daisy to the looniest tulip to the forgotten weed of the dandy lion, what law affirms that a flower may not be as sacerdotal as those adorned with collars of black and white? For there are no limits on God or they ways in which he relates to us. In likelihood, a dowie demeanour, needing a spiritual wake, would find itself drawn to the hopeful hues of an ochre orchid more so than the monochrome colours in which the soul is already treading. Oh, yellow flower! No matter your make. No matter your state. You are a patrician of hope for joy, even nobler than a clergy boy–or girl. Speak to us through each petal; we will listen and grow our mettle! ; )