by Paul Roe

Created on: February 28, 2010

The trees line the street like masts;
The sky plainly elucidates the beauty of
Every texture;
The sky admires the cars, the street's face,
The hairs on every head, lawns-
The wind lightly chills all of it
Like vanilla ice cream to the touch.
The lawns are cool like my cool damp cheeks.
Give to others the south, the jungle, Greece,
India, the Sahara;
Give to me my city block and its coverings.

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