Gray

Gray chalk

 

You ask me my favorite color

And I’ll tell you that it’s gray.

You mock me, “That’s ugly,

It’s not a color; ’tis only a shade.”

Unfortunately you don’t see

What I mean so I shall explain

Why to me it’s a color:

Why to me it isn’t passé.

Gray is the color of mornings

Long before the break of day,

The sky of humid afternoons

When its about to start to rain.

The wear of ancient rocks

Who’ve been there for an age,

The hair of aged people

Who watch children on the rocks play.

The iris’s of the children

Who dance in a joyful way,

Cause they needn’t remember

Whether to spell it gray or grey.

Of seals, of moving photography,

The last rain shower in May,

A stone cut chapel, little birds;

What more can I say?

It’s the emotion it evicts,

Not the actual color;

That’s why I like the color gray.

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2 thoughts on “Gray

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