the streets rush with water,
sky high papers flutter down looking like blind eyes outside a window.
we feel the wind,
we see no presence of the common call for joy.
these streets continue to flow,
and my hope continues to take off.
so hurry and make your way off this joyride,
and come into something i'd like to call our home.
a humming bird calls to us.
humble bee,
believe.
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