July, summer after June, spring!
O the days leaves warm to thrive.
And the women on the shore
will feed bread Or the amour in sight.

Not has been said; not the end of the year.
Lemonade under the luminous sky,
And the newborn bud's soothe cry
And the happiness of a fresh dad' hold.

What's love when it couldn't fall?
On the streets of Paris seats a man
With the red brush in his hand
Awaits of lovers yet to sweetheart.
© darky

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