Poetrypuddle
Sometimes, I write poems.
Sunday, April 08, 2012
Blue
Blue
Green of the sky, green of your eyes.
Blue of the grass, blue.
Of treetops
purple
seems right.
A boat passing, of no colour
rips waves of grey.
What can I see, for what it is
without you?
-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2012 --
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