Don't Give Up on Wet Septembers (version 2)
Rain, rain, rain.
Malaise is nibbling at my fingers.
I know it passes; all things do, but why not let us keep the candied moments?
I need a summer full of ribbon grass and blue.
I’d like to put a footprint in a new dimension,
I’d like to empty out its time and space and plant fall promises.
I’d like a little color.
Would you like to share the yellow with a side of mottled green?
We’ll take some fresh ground red, and could you hold the misty peach?
For desert, we’ll split the rosy layer iced with burnt sienna.
Cerulean to drink, I think, and don’t forget the henna.
Malaise is nibbling at my fingers.
I know it passes; all things do, but why not let us keep the candied moments?
I need a summer full of ribbon grass and blue.
I’d like to put a footprint in a new dimension,
I’d like to empty out its time and space and plant fall promises.
I’d like a little color.
Would you like to share the yellow with a side of mottled green?
We’ll take some fresh ground red, and could you hold the misty peach?
For desert, we’ll split the rosy layer iced with burnt sienna.
Cerulean to drink, I think, and don’t forget the henna.
A Second Magic Tree Reveals Itself
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