It's not gray, it's soft;
Leaves melt into each other,
Waving in the breeze.
The cool is back now;
No more sweating in my bed;
(Until tomorrow?)
From the broken chime
Bright blue flowers emerging
As if planted there.
Crowning the street sign,
Green leaves push their way forward
Embracing the steel.
Just a few dry leaves
Lie in the plastic white seat.
Guess they need a rest.
Forest waves of green
Seem to envelope the world.
(Winter will change that.)
Bright balloons beckon,
Calling all to take notice:
"Yes. This is the place!"
With their silken shroud
Tent caterpillars weaving.
Soon all will be bare.
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