Feet dangling in the tidal water
With aged pine, grey and cracked under leaning palms.
The hot sun beating down from its midday peak,
Diluted by the cool littoral breeze
Flavored with a hint of scales and mud and seaweed.
The chorus of the sounds of summer
Carries across the glassy calm of a sheltered bay,
Falling on the deaf ears of towering evergreens
But echoing nostalgically for years to come;
The sounds of splashing and laughter filled youth.
And until the first autumn leaves fall,
Resonating like the last chords of a song,
Hope will always blossom in the summer sun,
Blooming into fond memories
Grown from the sun and the earth and the season.
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