Late summer afternoon
the trees are alive with
the sounds of cicadas
singing sad songs as if
to say fare you well
oh, perchance to
make romance with
the girl whose sparkle
shines coming into her
prime now is the time
throw down some lines
as if beats of my heart
or maybe a drum but
I’m on the run again
wondering whatever
will be as cicadas sing
homilies under the sun
wouldn’t it be nice if
we had only just begun?
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