Summer's running for cover and we're sitting watching the sun explode.
Mysteriously, or magically, or sadly enough, we'll walk our city streets where the meager and the eager coincide.
Light blue balloons of dust and everlasting innocence crowd above our heads, but don't look up.
Never look up, in fear of spotting your potential.
Winter's climbing the water fountains and the ocean only acts as if it chills.
No hopes rise in the dead of spirit and forgotten lovers.
Hearts break in hopeless wanderers and slow
And still, with this in mind, the weepers smile and the grinners beam brightens for no
None we have come across, that is.
So we'll hope to catch our tears on our tongues and our lightest whims in our infant hands to blow into the setting wind.