is green –
Not this green, of the maple leaves,
Glowing in the morning sun
Beyond my kitchen window,
Or that green –
the bright stems of the daisies
Left for me in a vase
On the table beside my bed –
But the artificial green
of a hank of crocheted yarn
(the beginnings of a hat)
sticking out of a young girl’s pocket
as she stands –more proudly now –
saluting the flag as it slowly lowers,
dropping like the evening sun
into a sea of campers.
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