You feel that?
Summer is coming.
The cold winds turn warm in dismay,
the sun shines down it's sweet rays,
and that cloudy, ever off-clear haze?
It all makes clear
for that ever lovely cheer
that the warm time of the year
is coming.
The birds commit their flying runs
between one and a billion suns;
between evening meat and morning buns.
The grass goes from brey to green,
the new flowers are sometimes seen,
and the trees stop looking all that mean
when it's coming.
The fires of fun are now in sight,
when we can all go grab a bite,
and goof around the entire night.
I find myself impatient now,
waiting for that flaming vow.
I don't want to stop or think of how
it's still coming.
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