It is too hot.
Girls and boys
Sweat,
But have not
The energy for fleeting joys,
Let alone regret
It is too hot
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It is too hot.
Girls and boys
Sweat,
But have not
The energy for fleeting joys,
Let alone regret
Sunlight on a late November day,
Transitory beauty, all will pass away
Wind chimes swaying in a gentle spring breeze, birds twittering in the trees. The scent of roses fills the air, the sound of lawn mowers a distant purr. Smell of hay warm and sweet, I long to feel it under my feet. but other people cut the grass, their garden gates I may not pass.