heat proliferates the ground,
summer hinges on the temps
not a safe place to be for gimps,
mother makes meals for nine
husband comes in from behind,
lurking in the shadows still
are the ones who work the mill,
daily grinds that don't betray
are the one tossing bales of hay,
backyard rhymes come and go
not for those who make the blow,
I for one too old to care
have been known to take the dare,
little willie down the block
has his trike on a lock,
weeping willows by the pond
have the grace of magic wands,
ending the torture of the day
are the ones who make the hay.
August 10, 2025
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