Just August
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This August day the air is still, humid, and stale. The Sunlight's hot golden rays pour slowly down through the umbrella of tangle leaves.
Its rays rests upon the spears of grass, nude ground and roots. I hear the building rattle thrum of the cicadas in the tree. Laughter of my grandson, as I rhythmical swing him back and forth, and spin him, on his spider web tree-swing that hangs from a large limb.
8/9/2022
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2022
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