I would give a summer in your arms for all the joy of one quite day with myself. I would give sunbeams on shoulder blades and beads of sweat at brows for peace of mind when loneliness descends. Do not ask for my spring. Let April open and close with warm storms. Give me May with sun's gentle memory. June slips candied sunbeams through my window pane.
Seasons are rhythmic. The best things in life have a rhythm. Time has a rhythm, the second hand playing metronome. The sun sings chorus, the moon rhapsodizes it's verse. My feet do not tire of the life I dance. I dance alone, the waltz is mine. My motion is not yours to keep and my music is not yours to remember.
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