There is a boy with hazel eyes and a mess of red hair.
His skin is white and he does delight in women creamy fair.
His eyes o how they do change color in the sunny September air.
He smells like you; like Spring inside of Winter including his hair.
Your skin the color of brown coffee mixed with cream does not compare.
I think sometimes I would have loved him but not like you and would’ve loved an heir.
But he’s not mine.
I think it fine;
If I just secretly love him there.
With your sad eyes that turn hazel,
My forest green, o my forest green
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