Proper paper brown.

You will have your time.

Many moments lying ahead.

For your dull shine.

Tan?

Dressed in stormy camouflage.

You too will soon disperse your love.

But the vacancy sign…

Has yet to be hung.

For

Barefoot red is still in the yard for play.

Orange extract doused with gold hue.

She has not returned from a date with buxom blue.

Mortality begs the transformation of many.

It is often despised.

By a rusted rustic with yellow in her eyes.

 

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