A Late Summer Scene
I stand still and silent,
My eyes are closed but I can picture in my head,
What I would see in this late summer scene.
I can hear the young children screaming and shrieking at play,
The squeaks of the playground slides, swings and see-saws,
The gentile gossiping of girls,
The angry football cries of boys,
The gentle chuckles of old men a women trading tales.
I can feel the smooth, soothing warmth of the suns last few rays,
The soft blades of grass beneath my feet and between my toes,
A soft summer wind runs its fingers through my hair.
A smiles plays across my lips as a graceful sense of calm falls upon me.
I am brought out of my trance by the sound of my phone,
I answer it and hear the most angelic voice.
The only way this day would be become better was if the owner of this voice was with me,
As I think this a pair of hands slides around my waist and a head rests on my shoulder.
I know that touch and that scent.
We stand in silence for a second, a minute, an hour,
Who knows?
He is with me,
making this day pure bliss and perfection.
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