Zephyrs seem to bless me;
Dress-down Friday
Flings me, beribboned into
My kind of sunshine.
There is nothing to fight.
Scents are gentle;
Sounds of city bustle
Blend together.
Everything's adventuring -
Crows and footballs,
Ants and bare arms,
Blossom, grass, guitars.
There's a holiday haze
To the town's fumes,
I'm being lured to lay my head,
Rest on this bench, regretless.
Junk is jaunty,
Garbage is art,
It's all part of the
Wide day's pattern.
We are flattered by
Wary, warm light,
The flight of cut grass,
And the season's first ice cream.
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