Gentle, soothing caress,
A fluttering sound soft against your ear,
Contours pressed 'gainst your dress,
The cool is refreshing, but not too cold,
Just enough to be woke,
The kind of wind, if it goes long enough,
Will make you believe it's all just a joke
As you lie there with sun against your face,
Heat of sadness far 'way,
If air could cleanse you of anxiety,
There'd be piles where you lay,
Then it would go,
Picked up by the odd gust,
That is, if this breeze could last long enough,
For you've a patina of anxious rust.
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