Decked out in red and blue shorts,
two or three boys cavort,
behind their pink skinny
legs and gesticulating arms
the bay rests, thin
as an indigo finger,
while high above
their rowdy shouts
an empty sky criss-crossed
by delicate fronds of pine
and branches of fir
eavesdrops the scene as trees
ponder in the breeze
what it is to be
young, standing in sand
with Summer's wet
barefeet, its sweet
unfettered boyhood.
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