The feeling upon seeing it—
Between yellow and blue,
The sun and the sea,
It adorns the trees
And holds high flowers.
It is not the crashing hum of waves,
Nor the silent sky with blushing clouds.
It is the rustling of the trees
Because when all is dark,
Nothing speaks of a second chance more
Than the sprout that grows under the dust
In a color seldom sung about,
Rarely written of,
Barely spoken for.
Green.
Green with envy
Or green with riches.
Green with the earth
And green in serenity.
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