Summer Languish

What a lazy day
might this be,
with the thunder of cicadas
washing over us–
we wander through
this forest
in a city park,
wilderness
beside civilization,
hints of the past
evident
in the
smooth and shiny path,
worn down by the feet
of generations before–
laughing, chasing each other,
fishing poles in hand,
Ah, the freedom of a summer day,
catching tadpoles in July.

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