Everyone gets lonesome.
Just look up in a summer sky;
There’s always a wisp of white cloud
Amidst the sea of abyssal blue,
So slight, it can hardly carry any rain.
Just as the lonely don't see they're in pain.
Within a sea of green
Is a boy with a ball.
His lips are whispering,
Almost as fast as his feet,
As he darts across the lawn.
You think he’s all alone,
Like a June cloud adrift.
But he’s taking on the whole 1st grade;
Dragons and demons,
And Real Madrid too.
He feints right, then a left Cruyff fake,
Leaving invisible foes in his wake.
The cloud is just the water you can see
While sweat beads on your brow,
As you stand behind a window watching
In a quiet, uncool house.
To your left, in a bowl,
Is a fish swimming in water.
And out there, within the summer haze,
Is that boy elapsing his days,
Navigating his own fathomless realms
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