You say the sky is blue.
I say the grass is green.
Yet, the road from me to you
is mixed up in between.

You're shouting now (oh so loud).
You say I do not hear.
I say that you are much too proud.
We're not listening -- that is clear.

For I refuse to see the sky;
you, to sit upon the grass.
Stuck in all the reasons why,
we wait for time to pass.

The world, unforgiving, keeps on spinning.
We've lost another argument that never was worth winning.



Copyright © 2016 John Grimmett. All rights reserved.

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