Tender child, what was pulling at your strings?
Thoughts like a cicada’s summer calling
They swelter in the damp heat
And the buzzing unnoticed by others, faded into a white noise

Garden rose, are you scared to lose your thorns?
Far too distant to be surrounded by the thick air that sits heavy in your lungs
And exhaled with the same force as the sun reigning above
Summer it slouches in your absence