sunshine, peering through the hems
hawed the glory of morning
tangerine hues along silver lines
warmth casts asunder, like chaos
a beautiful mess.
dust settles, leaves crisp with each step
the puddle foretells, merely daunting
ripples, smudges-smeared leather
coffee wafting like city perfume
should be a fine weather, mr.beaver
gripping on the cold metal
fives, ones and quarters aplenty
bargain through the daily ropes
sea of faces, gripped to hope
in unison, heading everywhere
not wanting to be found
until hope sets, rises.
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