I know you won’t think of me now.
When the sun scoops vanilla clouds
And there are new friends
Planning exciting summer picnics
And dances mid summer nights.
When you can share your dreams
With colourful people who enjoy
Without intent, without intensity.
You won’t think about me.
You are a summer child
And I am the dreary crone
Of relentless, lonely monsoons.
I am the trees dripping rain
Drunk, somnabulent in green.
I am the monsoon winds
Whipping grey and cold
You won’t think of me now.
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