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Spring has passed once more.

Time walked through a door

Of human construct.


Summer has arrived.

Skies have duly cried.

Its tears earth hath sucked.


Now, the people play,

Festive through each day

Of sunshine and warmth.


Artificial ruse?

Seasons’ morbid blues?

Death tolls month the tenth!


Rather each moment?

Now, in the present—

Such internal rhyme!

photo and poem by S.A. Bort / 20 June 2016