the heavy dew laid
a blanket of
shivering chills.
the tree's tears
melting, dry like desert sand.
the grass, scarred but
spring is coming, i heard.
there's a still, breathless air
with a stiff upper lip and
the rhythm, chained to an
abandon phone booth.
interestingly enough, it goes
pretty much unnoticed by the passerby's.
the mornings first light, invigorating
and yet, blinding.
i think i'll rest a bit beneath this cloud.
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