Free to sail
When the storm of youth
Brewed inside me,
When the whirlwind of emotion
Entrapped us in folly-
I beheld in excitement;
Your intoxicating allure.
I lost to the four winds
My sense and sensibility.
But while we were, I gathered
That a dry-season hive
Is a hollow comb of a thousand stings.
Like a stream after floods
I have sobered,
Brown dirt has settled,
The pebbles visible,
once again.
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