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Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow!

It is not a color.

It is summer!

It is the wind on a willow,

the lap of waves, the shadow

under a bush, a bird, a bluebird,

three herons, a dead hawk

rotting on a pole—

Clear yellow!

It is a piece of blue paper

in the grass or a threecluster of

green walnuts swaying, children

playing croquet or one boy

fishing, a man

swinging his pink fists

as he walks

It is ladysthumb, forgetmenots

in the ditch, moss under

the flange of the carrail, the

wavy lines in split rock, a

great oaktree—

It is a disinclination to be

five red petals or a rose, it is

a cluster of birdsbreast flowers

on a red stem six feet high,

four open yellow petals

above sepals curled

backward into reverse spikes—

Tufts of purple grass spot the

green meadow and clouds the sky.