Acklemore tree’s sang a lullaby,
To the son under the sea;
Upon his midsummer grave
— Rose the first petal

Spring came in batches
With regards — bittersweet
Cat caught his tongue
In the whispering alcove

Lost — like;
Out there, but not really
In the shadows
Beneath the surface

The son slept
Lullaby rang
And upon the midsummer grave
The last one — lay withering

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