To shepherds, a warning

To shepherds, a warning;
to poets a dream.
Red sky in the morning,
how lovely you seem.

 

A blushing blue maiden
with cheeks turning red
or rose petals laid on
a lovers blue bed.

 

Perhaps its these glasses,
rose tinted, I wear
that paint pink palaces
up there in the air.

 

Or bluebell blooms scattered
with blossoms of pink.
Whatever; no matter,
you're lovely, I think.