Evergreen
The shade of a pine forest,
Where the immature seedlings hang,
Waiting for the first gust of fresh spring air.
It's the stem color of the tropical plant,
Angel's trumpet, who's sunshine gold flower,
Has no imperfections.
It's the crunchy lettuce that you chew into,
While you spoon into your split-pea soup,
On the day that you decide to recycle!
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