Life, Poetry

Hey, Blue!

“How are you?”

They ask the millionth time.

My blue heart winces inside.

Light chatter, then prance away.

“Father,” I whisper above,

“I’m blue, through and through.”

“Blue, my child?” I hear.

“Look again.”

The wind rushes through my hair,

Sunning my wilting soul.

“You were not created blue; at times,

You’ll feel blue through and through.

Then look up, child. See:

My sun still shines.”


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