Lawns need wet, roses sun.
Assortment of weather serves them both
like solace soothes hurting souls,
like liberation is experienced in the gales of autumn.
Acute situations are sorted in weather's variables
like sea spray accents ones kinship to salt,
like first blood drawn from an exchange of fists
kinda reminds of the taste of olives.
The sky's lower boundary is lodged at our feet.
On all sides the sky abounds and surrounds us.
The weather's fills these puny lungs.
The other half awaits inhaling.
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