Now what does such a primal heat entail --
The Delphic whispering of things to come
Or merely newborn summer's humid veil,
The sun-kissed arrows of a flower from
The bow of Apollo, in which the heat
Can cause a plant to thrive or make it numb,
Or forged as Vulcan's hammer beats
Where temperature leads not to passion,
But to a sullen, bitter pressure replete
With wishes of what could have been, now gone --
All washed away in the cruelest fashion.
June 20
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