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