Gleeful sands of mischief
lighten oppressed time.
The celestial sphere pulls
laughter from the land.
And they laid their languished heads down upon the driftwood. Waves lapping the naked feet.
To sleep. To sleep. Under the noon day sun, Souls yearn to caress the rising moon.
To feel. To feel. Wrapped in fallen petals, swept up in leafed-out branches, and grazed by fiery skies, Summer races past their heads.
Pedals anchored to wheels
the goose waves goodbye.
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