Capturing all that isn’t blue,
The sky, extending out of view,
Pitches over the gathered green,
Its grassy sheen
Draped, reflected, along the hills,
While quietly its wideness spills

Wider, as if its breadth defined
The limit of the viewer’s mind,
As if it flew
In chase of its reflected hues,
Whether robed in red or washed in gold,
Colored by what it cannot hold.

 

 


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