Blue Denim
P Paul Hartal
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The air was balmy,
the breeze calling
and the evening young.
She spoke calmly
and sweet words
were rolling,
forming a summer song.
She paced along
beside him
in blue denim.
He wanted to prolong
joy and time,
paying no attention
for the rhyme.
And soon
in the dark among
the scattered clouds,
traveling high,
a golden moon
peered down, hung
in the August sky.
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