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Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Poem: Summer Comes

The pines hold up staffs with pebbles creeping up on them.
They’re developing cones.
The bush-trees have trumpets for flowers.
The glossy glaring holly has green berries.
The promise of summer comes with the hot prospect of happiness.
Bitter boredom is sure to follow.
And heat.
The sand burns.

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