deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Summer
The summer is true
you know its true
summer is true my love,
to whether it glooms
the flowers they bloom
over and true my love,
and what of the turtle?
I sit and watch him
chase the bobber,
nothing gets done;
no fishing on the pond,
we only sit and drink
hippie lemonade
and torment the evening turtle.
The summer is true
you know its true
…summer was true my love.
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