Early Summer

took a walk along a wooded early summer path – and languished in subtle insights – like about how sure and pleased with themselves the blossoms look – then thought out the metaphor of love – and how we all miss the bloom – and later resent the golden beauty of fall leaves – whithering and saying goodbye  – even in summer my inner days fill with misty remembering – the rain never quite falls – held in some clouded realm of denial – in perpetual hope that these dividing issues may soon resolve – and togetherness – the rosy sun drenched passion  – will fill our days again

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