We dare to be different
in hues of blue.
But we begin in green,
growing white as lambs wool, pink as dawn, or
shifting shades of plum.
Then we whisper
with the chance
of changing into smomething new.
When Sun is done
warming the earth
we welcome drying
into something permanent,
something to be savored inside;
a souvenir
of summer.
Andria W. Rosenbaum/ all rights reserved
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