I say red,
And you hand me a coal.
I say white,
And you hand me some ice.
I say green,
And leaves are pressed to my hand.
Brown,
And I get dirt.
What do the clouds look like?
You hand me some cotton.
What about blue?
I ask…
Can you show me blue?
You take my hands in yours,
And press them lightly to your face,
Just so I can feel your tears.
The End
Copyright August 2001 by Christopher J. Thomasson
