Written by Callen Michael Neasmith
A solitary plane glides through a
cloudless blue sky,
Soft and gentle blue eyes gaze at me,
I do up the last button on my blue shirt,
And Gilderoy reluctantly sleeps on my blue cover.
From under the blue marquee is shouting and laughing,
The blue strobe light electrifies me,
Above me a blue canopy halts my freefall,
I decorate my neck with my favourite blue scarfe.
Glassy blue waves wash over me,
Door 49 of Princes Street is light blue,
The garage is lit with hazy blue fairy lights,
I remember to wear my blue facemask over my nose.
The racquet clatters off the blue tennis court,
He slashes the blue jeans at the knee,
Sassy's blue collar is nowhere to be seen,
She grounds me when I'm feeling blue.