This is all I have to say of green —
Not the perfumes or the taste,
Nor all its nuances I have seen.
Green, not red, is the color of haste,
As with all of life,
Little completely faced,
Yet the opposite of strife,
Which is hope (no, not blue),
The blunting of the knife.
Nothing, nothing is quite true.
We act before a green screen.
I speak and act only for you,
My love, scene after scene.
Note: This is the 50th and last
of the poems I've written in a
form I invented, the Terzata. Below
are numbers 31to 50 in the blog roll.
The first 30 are here: 30 Terzata
