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Irredeemable
This summer is quite irredeemable.
It's bad. The rain just comes and goes like sobs.
She walks down forest paths and can recall
The strolls they had together through peat bogs
To rarely sunlit heather on the hills;
She cannot feel the breeze or see the skies.
Or sense when the sun's out, as each eye fills
With tears so she can't view the butterflies;
For he won't come again and will not press
Her down with force that seemed to fit so well;
And less of him is never more; duress
Is something she would suffer. She can't tell
The night from day or dusk from dawn. Tears fall.
Yes, summer is quite irredeemable
It's bad. The rain just comes and goes like sobs.
She walks down forest paths and can recall
The strolls they had together through peat bogs
To rarely sunlit heather on the hills;
She cannot feel the breeze or see the skies.
Or sense when the sun's out, as each eye fills
With tears so she can't view the butterflies;
For he won't come again and will not press
Her down with force that seemed to fit so well;
And less of him is never more; duress
Is something she would suffer. She can't tell
The night from day or dusk from dawn. Tears fall.
Yes, summer is quite irredeemable
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