Yellow is dandelions, which you call flowers and I always used to call weeds.
Yellow is you going barefoot the day the snow starts melting.
Yellow is your hair when you tilt your head back and wipe the sweat from your forehead and smile at the sun.
Yellow is long walks together in autumn forests; crunchy leaves and muddy boots.
Yellow is turkey-eating contests, pumpkin pie, and Thanksgiving football.
Yellow is a warm fire and hot chocolate after deer hunting in a blizzard.
Yellow is the last verse of Amazing Grace, which always was your favorite.
Yellow is your old clunker which you fixed up with your own two hands and won’t ever put to sleep.
Yellow is the smiley face you wear on a chain by your dog tag.
Yellow is the old oak tree by the road.
Yellow is the ribbon.
Yellow is me hoping you’ll come home.
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