The brunette smile withdrew into her dream world,
as goldenrod sun melted away in storm.
The petrichor-scented parasol thus twirled,
aft’ windswept fall of sailor, in uniform,
upon her sand, carried on where lightning hurled.
This seaman-salt, seasoned with charm, keeps her warm.
Fantastical, a mermaid can dream, can’t she?
How unlikely, her tale be true, but could be?
But turns the tide,...
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