A Seasonal Paradox

season

Every August,

There parades an army,

Lavishly on the restricted quarter.

A poor man wrapped in a blanket,

Sleeping under the scorching sun,

Gain all the suspicious stares.

Feelings are devoid of the season,

Festive bulbs might flicker,

Please don’t judge.

@Emily Parker

Skills

Posted on

August 8, 2021

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