November 19, 2010
It’s not tangible
But it’s slipping through my hands
It’s not cold
But I’ll be an ague when it’s gone
It’s not baleful
until its absence sinks its teeth
It’s not me
Nor you
But us hand in hand
Not gone away
But it won’t last
Forever and eternity
It hides from
after September
When the heroic birds
Again fly far away
in reminiscence of
the cherished solstice
of summertime

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