It's not my favorite color, blue. (I'm a yellow guy, myself, which probably makes me quite odd.) But I'm fond of this Frederick Zydek poem regardless.
The Names of Things
Take blue. It is the sky
bright with summer—a hue
that gladdens the land.
Sometimes it defines the risqué—
a blue joke. Then it’s an
indecent devaluing sort of blue.
Occasionally it must name
the blues—that gloomy sound
that never sees a summer day.
It can name the unexpected—
news that comes out of the blue
like rain from a cloudless sky.
Blue can even christen the rare
and infrequent. That happens
only once in a blue moon.