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A Summer in New York
It is the first day of Autumn.
It is the last day of Spring.
It is a place with tall minds
And short bodies.
It is a path that bends
Quickly with your words.
It is a farce that allows
Every endeavor
To slip through your fingers
Before you can touch them.
It is the first day of Summer.
It is the last day of Summer.
It rocks you softly to sleep
And wakes you with a nosebleed.
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