The thing about wedgewood blue
Is that it is a blue of the oddest sort
Not blue or gray, one could say

That blue looked fine on the restaurant
Perched there on the banks beside the river
Amidst green grasses and short bushy shrub

A blue whose sister is the blue heron
Wafting gracefully, gliding down
through the air in the early morning light
To rest there on the river bank

That crisp morning light
A soft wedgewood blue sky
Adorns the side of the old clapboard restaurant
The great wings of the heron open to the sky
Leaves the river ever moving