So the summertime stayed all winter,
And Amy was washing ponies down.
We were a weary collection of skin touchers.
Though nothing was ever conniving
We made haste to make room for laughter…
We sung like crocodiles under the moon.
We only used food stamps, even if we have truckloads of the stuff.
We cried a lot.
Not knowing why and not caring.
We felt like individuals, though we knew nothing was disconnected.
Every season does what it wants.
And it appears summertime stayed forever.