She is fully grown, with a rainbow stripe,
nothing is as scary as what she pretends to be,
when she puts on her big-girl panties.
The collar she has is red and
screams the whole period.
It’s the worst dining experience ever.
There’s a problem with her roses,
looking like a clown with
pads of faded quality and discomfort.
We never talk about the sunset.
A tear-away face,
makes her bark.
The attic is dusty, and
peaches should taste good, but
the stone well is dry and cracked.
The weather’s changing,
and the worn out carpet
is fermenting and not frothy.
The oven is cold.
It’s the slow season at the garden, and
for those who want to swim.
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