Yesterday, I rode this small yellow bus to the gardens of Staten Island.
The whole place reeked of honeysuckle,
but the sky was crazy blue.
We read poems about foxes,
and we spoke to the trees;
we made birds with our hands
and we lounged in the grass.
In the end,we were left with nothing but the dandelion chains.(oh, but, really, in the end, is there anything else that we truly need?)
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