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Summer Poem- Can Only be consumed metaphorically (re-write)

heavy cream

Spice Pack:
1 dollop of worry
1/4 tablespoon of grumpiness

On my beat up lawn chair, sipping the bubbly without a care,
listening to the children as they play in the pool.
I would take a breather, take a break,
go on another fun get away.
Maybe there I could finally sleep,
escape from these haunting dreams,
that weigh on me more heavily than whipped cream.
Move through life as smooth as butter,
do it myself (without our butler).

What if my kids grow up to be bitter?
Always prepared for another winter.
They'd be like my mom,
because that's just like her.

But as it stands they do what they're told,
wear their matching camisole's
and smile those smiles that children do.
Warmed by the sun in a way,
that I wish I knew.


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