The market

The market,

they all want brilliant hues and will pay price high for your soul. 

The clouds are rolling by; we can’t forecast the sky, in this midsummer’s night dream…

star-crossed lovers,

shine on forever

 

And I blossom shy pastels

Flushed pink

Bowing my head

Denying that the moment ever ends

 

And a child’s dark hair reflects

Sun’s warmth in Spring’s day

Little fists clutch tender grass

Buttercups adorn little toes

Clumsy steps

Towards clear, resounding water

Ripples are singing a siren’s song

She creeps over the bank

Where little birds drown

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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