Summer Days

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The sunshine smiled upon the soft fields.
The flowers stood prideful,
yellow petals dancing in the breeze.
The bustle of the trees whispered secrets to each other,
and the cats preyed upon the small field mice.
The smell of the fresh hay itched at my eyes.
I remembered the long hard days of work,
the constant desire for a drink from the hose,
or a daydream upon the hidden, wooden beams.

Papa called my name as loudly, as a man with a megaphone.
I would skip to the front of the barn,
where he barked orders at me.
Once the job was done and done right, Papa walked me to the house.
Sitting at the table we drank lemonade, and spoke of the days work,
‘till the sun set and Mama pushed us off to bed.
Staring at the inside of my eyelids, I dreamt of
drinks from the hose, and daydreams upon secret wooden beams.





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