Early spring days are like long summer evenings.
We make the most of them
String out the hours to days
Make minutes matter
We let our worries hang out to dry
Let the breeze take our thoughts
To faraway places
Knit laughter out of straws of grass
We chase the blues away
With yellows and bags full of oranges
We feed ourselves markets
With the stall owners yelling as a side
We get freckled
Frolick-y
We own our paleness
Own our tales
Tell them in long stretched-out sentences
Make them last just that tip of the tongue bit
Longer
Until next winter
We make them last
We savour that first ray of sun
As if it were the last
We would ever get
We make them last
We make them last
We make them last

— Silke

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