Sunday, January 2, 2011

Summer

Thinking of summer my brain must have recalled
The chirping of crickets whether they be happy or appalled.

They sung a nice tune inside my head,
But quickly, it seems, they ran to bed
For their chirping stopped
And my dream bubble popped.

And I would dream of summer no more
Until its glistening dew drops again would linger at my door.

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