The World is not in Color

The World is not in Color
Nor a made-for-TV play,
Just a stand of trees that’s barren
Beneath a grayish sky that’s dampened
On one February day.

The World is not in Color
It doesn’t dance and twist
With musical accompaniment
And darting swooshing graphics
Or smoky dry ice mist.

A bird drops in for a meal
To peck and pick the ground
Amidst deadened straw strewn weeds
While a cold and aimless breeze
Stirs its feathers ‘round.

The World is not in Color
Just a quiet senseless place
Yet we still try to dress It up
And place It neatly on a shelf,
Volume X, Chapter H.

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