A velvet sky above us,
The clearest landscape drop,
Swept like silk with rouchéd clouds,
Which doesn't seem to stop.
An artist ponders colours,
But nothing quite comes close,
When it comes to skies like this,
One cannot be verbose.
Throwing words like cannonballs,
Like spears to hit the spot,
'Blue' just isn't strong enough,
So he takes another shot.
'Cerulean' or 'sapphire'?
The game is fairly null,
This artist sits with smile on lips,
For the sky has its own pull.
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