The Blue-Haired Fool

He bewitches from the screen,
A word per drop of caffeine;
He reads to her her fortune
From an old newspaper in June.

The blueness appears to spread
For now, it’s on his forehead,
Then at once, his nose it shines
And from the sky fall columbines.

The girl, still she loves here,
Whispers romances to his ear,
Now beginning to turn blue as well,
But never hearing the decibel.

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