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Colours, they change counterfeited by light
That expresses their truth in kaleidoscopic delight.
For rainbows we are and rainbows we'll be;
Though the colours don't match they're still colours you see.
There is brindle and orange purple and red,
Crimson all bright where the soldiers have bled
The daffodil is yellow, but when applied to a " chink"
We find 'em suspicious cause we don't see them blink.
And white, if it was the colour of the scribe's common ink,
Would never be able to dictate what other hues might think.
Black on white paper is far more easily red...
Leaving blank white paper with everything said...
The world, she is colours of all sorts of hues
All dressed up in white to make it easy to choose
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