Humid Summer Day

By Cate Foy, TIWP Student

On one humid summer day
I picked strawberries at a farm,
The sky was cotton candy blue,
The wind felt cool against my arm

Then the day was over,
And then, so was the fun
Oh how I miss picking the strawberries,
That grow in summer sun

Now the strawberries have all dried up,
And the soil is hard as rocks,
The farm was lost to time’s embrace
As the big hand ticks around clocks

The past is in the past 
My memories will overtime fade
But always will I wish to go back
To that humid summer day

My adolescence is now over,
My next step, is yet to come 
My mind is stuck in the present
Not the past, to which I am numb

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