Far from Spring
But green, green, green
Olive with a warm summer tint
Lime with gray withering age
Forest and boring
Faded lime covers the grass
Different yet familiar
Trees spreading like wings
But not standing very tall
Which is better?
We are none to talk
Let our Savior speak
To tell us about the leaves
Colors to us,
Even feelings,
But design to the King.
Now the chicken is burning
And this chair will wear
If I don't retreat in soon.
Connected to these trees,
Though their changing colors sting.