A book of poetry By Meredith Fowler
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Purple Click here to hear a voice reading of this poem. Purple is the color of the wisteria that twists and turns up poles and trees. Purple is the color of the dress I stare at every time we go to the mall. Purple is the color of the heart on the solders uniform. Purple is the color of the grapes that hang off of the vines like paint dripping from a canvas. Purple is the color of the nail polish chipping off of my nails. Purple is the color of the rusted old car that the old man drives every day to the garden club. Purple is the color of lollypops that hang out of little kids mouths. Purple is the color of the twisty straws that grape soda is being sucked out of. Purple is everywhere.
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Pickles Click here to hear a vocal recording of this poem. No matter where, where you are I will still be in this jar. You may go out and see different hues All I see is my pickle juice. I have small bumps all over me And big green lumps they cover me. However though there seem to be Some advantages to being me. No matter when no matter what I always look good going with whatever you want. I come in circles, slices, and spears So let’s hear some cheers To all of the pickles out there, After all what would you do if there were no pickles here?
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