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Blue is the color of Marcy’s Christmas
Not excitement red or
Yellow sun on glistening snow.
For Marcy it was first her career,
She had talked with presidents and kings,
Flown in war planes, her game
Was correspondent news.
Oh, sure, she had been feted, courted,
But for her network influence,
Not her gray eyes or chestnut page-boyed hair.
The thrill of her job, her only true love.
Through floods, disasters and enemy strikes,
On foreign soil, a telephone family.
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