I see blue.
Sky and ground do not meet
Man has blocked out the way.
Brick and stone lay to waste
Sweet pastures I long for.
On a bench I stretch out,
Man’s blistering sod and clay,
Cold and hard, makes me burn,
Crimson blood, yet unspilled.
The soft green beckons to me,
I dare not sit – man’s word warns me.
The bare limbs from Nature’s cold
Begs of me “Help us please.”
I only stare through sad trees
To see blue.

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