Sometimes in life
We get used
To where we
Are so used
To in fact
That those sweet
Summer breezes and
Wet grass tickles
Turn normal until
Oh they’re gone
And then we
Miss them with
A full orchestra
Of heart ache
Instead perhaps we
Should ask another
What they see
And accept that
Those norm things
We have indeed
Are the treasures
That others seek
Once again enjoying
Each other’s sweet
Summer breezes and
Wet tickling kisses
