I giggle at the tickle of the overbearing grass against my soft summer dress
The dancing of warm pollen just underneath my nose, twirling quickly
I wince at that familiar tugging of heart, an attempt to kick me to confess
Suddenly the world halts, it stops spinning, I feel so sickly
My hands grip, they grasp for salvation from the sprouts
My head rings, it begs me to tear my eyes away from the dark house
The children play, they frolic like bucolics without a phantom of doubt
The mother calls for the eldest to throw on a blouse, to find salvation in a spouse
I rest my head on the willow pillows, try to lock my eyes
The wind whistles a trite tune, one I’ve heard many times before
I apologize for not nurturing my body the way I’m told is wise
The falling leaves bury me, dampness diminishes my core
There will forever be the flesh crumbling pressure to propel life
There will forever be millions of swirling arts encapsulating my strife
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