small pink budscluster my hedgeswaiting for trimming
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PinkDew-kissed dawnDown the gravel and puddled roadDogs leashed, anxious to be unsoBehind us the hills And above them a flame of red skyNo sun yetBut clouds muted the crimsonFading to camellia Softening to carnationBefore finally deciding upon pink.Rick Stepp-Bolling
“Pink”Hot pink geometry among the leafy greenFlower eraserPlastic thing
Not pinkFor Paine of glassmust not depart a box were in Marcel Marceau