July

The wind speaks in an ancient tongue
That which a sane mind cannot comprehend
Flowers bloom in their little gardens
But what they appreciate, they want to possess
Cracks appear in the sky
Like it often does in July
The birds fly back home
A nameless home
In the woods a man drinks alone
In his little cottage made of fear
I gaze at the sky
And as I spread my arms to embrace the rain
I feel like I could fly
As I always do in July

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