Summer Afternoon

Face caught by clouds, reflecting in a brook

With jungle sides, at an unwelcoming angle

Her bank does not love or cradle maternally

But away from the edge; a paternal stability

His mattress of grass; sweet memory’s rest

Humorous patience with small curious hands

Ticklish fingers, checking for fuzzy heart beats

Until a thistle stings, as do the hungry journey bugs

As a plentiful buffet, their victim rested there heavily

A luncheon atop, their housing beneath the green

Who dreamed anyway; of her lover on a flower petal

Stung as much by longing, so was been bitten awake

Wading into chilly streams, lets regret just wash away

And misery drowns in the cold, as the sky reappears

Again, reflecting a face in the clouds on the water

Image

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