The days drift by at summer’s pace,
Too insubstantial
to embrace.
Without a
goal that I can chase,
In neutral I
am stuck.
Though I am
home, most any place
Would seem
the same, with just a trace
Of novelty
to help me face
A way out of
the muck.
No matter
what, in any case,
The passing time
might grant some grace,
My lethargy
conceding space
To welcome
back some pluck.
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