I live in a town with plenty of copper roofed old buildings. Without this hint, this poem is a riddle
verdigris
named for the island of love
having an age of its own
a police officer whose eyes
has seen way too much for comfort
her hair
too much salt with the pepper
like a weathered roof
a city scape in the air
in pale green
Poetry by Katarina Wikholm
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Written on 2012-11-30 at 13:15
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