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Maisy Shaw

That slight summer breeze forever taunts me,
Teasing a desire for speckled spots of sun
That dance in a tree’s midday shadow.

Summer wishes that I dream of its days,
Long for its evenings still bright, sweat pooling in palms
Still warm from those fierce rays that blazed down.

This year’s summer begs for its arrival,
Delicate warmth reaches through cloud, those golden arms
Caressing my cheek like a first love.

I do not dream of summer or its days.
I am content with this year’s spring, its chilling breath,
Swaying yellow flowers like a flag.