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Our time, we met in thrusting upheaval:
an intimate union, a mingling
and a blown kiss sucked full within.
All my life you've been with me: aide, consort.
At times, I catch you and take the plunge
and gulp and hold an expectant pause,
before you rush to join me again,
full of spring fun as we race and chase.
Like cool water, you're sometimes deep,
or, if at peace, sometimes shallow.
And sadly, often, I barely give you a thought.
But you're my constant: leaving sometimes,
drifting to trees, whirling, disrobing autumn,
but always returning, swirling back for more,
brimming joys and blithe billowing.
So, so sometimes, buffeted and teased,
I run away and flee what lies between.
But you hurry back - always - panting with me,
sharing short gasps of adoration.
Your loyalty remains divine, regal - grounding me.
Other more distant friends, they lodge in fields,
leaving sobs caught clogged in cobwebs.
Our intimacy remains entwined,
with surges of full, expansive rhythm.
One day, however, one still hour,
I know you will smoothly slip away,
be gone to breeze anew - to be released.
Without you, our animated dance will cease,
the aria duet will fall hushed - as it must,
on our last, lamenting final date.
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