Still Green
How is it still green?
The grass on the side of these hills —
In the dead of winter, last days of December —
Is alive and well.
It was the first word I could spell;
“G-R-E-E-N,” I would yell.
It was my favorite color.
Now, I’m twenty-nine;
A man, tainted by time and “maturity.”
But it’s still my favorite color.
How is it still green?
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