I know not if those eyes are green or blue;
I only know they hold pastures and oceans.
Warm, lush pastures that draw me by their comfort,
In which I sit and speak and soak and rest.
Tossing, swelling oceans where my power
Is forsaken in the never-ceasing waves of beauty.

You claim they boast a tint of gray, but I must disagree
The gray appeared when those eyes began reflecting me.