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The sun is a creamy bright orange,
Softened beneath the haze of heat.
The sky, a blanket of slightly dusty white.
There's an eerie glow to the green of the trees,
The pigeons strutting in line along the platform.
The world in tones of grey, green and brown,
Only briefly flecked with black, red or yellow.
The brown and grey of the tracks running alongside,
Dark brown brick houses and brown green shrubs,
Even the river we cross is a pale ashy grey.
There seems to be no longer any blue.
Only once a few dark blue station benches,
But even these say there still isn't any blue.
No blue, just a bright grey uncertaintity