Morning was a blue poem about the blue hills and the men in dreams beyond their blue veined existences.
In the distance there appeared a blue hill in a smoke rising. Blue conch flowers boomed in the hills. They were a dream within a dream.
Mountain flowers are blue bells
Beloved of spring in mountains,
Like seashells blowing fine music.
In a distance , the hills are blue.
Hills are smooth and a fine blue,
From a smoke we see going up,
Our horizons blue and receding.
From hilltop the sea is blue sky.
In Rajasthan they have blue houses .They hide their blues in them.