No room for brown,
The soil is deep red,
Bright and dull at once,
Like Blood of the Earth
The blood covered,
With the widest array of
Greens you could imagine
No room for smog,
The skies are barely visible,
Through the shifting clouds,
Comfortable in their abode
The clouds separating
Into wisps, thin as sticks
Flit into man's abode
As though it is their own
-Poem Fanatic
