Some blue, some green, she says.
And I ask
What kind of blue, what kind of green?
And with a deep, deep sigh she says:
Some blue,
Like the September sky
Like the high, clear sound of the hazelnuts
When they fall down from the tree
Like the lupins, like the bellflowers
That still grow in the meadow
Like the dawn, with wafts of mist
And a chilly little breeze.
That
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