The Perfect Hue

A plum,
A grape,
But not an ape,
Blue and red,
You’ll look it when dead,
You gasp for air,
No longer white,
You long for something,
With all your might,
But the color of the sky,
Isn’t quite right,
The setting sun,
Has the right hue,
But so many other shades,
Blend with it too,
A deep rich wine,
From those off a vine,
Don’t overdose,
For you’ll no longer be white,
You’ll gasp for air,
Blue and red,
You’ll look it when dead,
Not an ape,
Just a plum,
A grape.

Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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