The table is green. A green table.
It sat so long under the leaves
it turned jealous and green.
Then all the dishes wanted to green, too.
And every one that sat down.
We all turned green. Look!
Our mossy hands. In summer
everything wants to be green.
Only the flowers say no.
And the sky. The sky says, I’m great.
I’m up here alone. I’m blue.

from The Sky is Great, the Sky is Blue, Whistling Shade Press
blue sky
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