The Grass Is Greener - Poem by Sonny Rainshine
When we lived in the country,
in a cottage painted blue like the sea,
with window boxes of violets in spring
and cerulean asters to usher out the summer,
you talked of moving to Manhattan,
and told me you never cared for blue.
So we rented a loft in Soho
and grew American Beauties
on the terrace; you bought
fresh crimson tulips, even in winter,
imported from Spain. One day you spoke
of moving to Barcelona and
how bored you had become
with the color red.
In Spain you cultivated sunflowers—
our Moorish villa obscured with hundreds
of golden faces, tracing the arc of the sun.
You even sowed dandelion seeds,
mowing them down before the yellow
daisies went to seed.
Yellow is a heavy, harsh color, you said
the day we departed for Paris
after the sunflowers ripened.
One could say
we lived a colorful life back then,
but the colors ran.
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