The only way, way down south is around rocky-red
curves. The young get lost in her winding loops of fresh
air while playing peak-a-boo with the dandelion
sun who's always squeezing her square-framed ovule
between giant oak hands, those sticky stigma limbs tickling
white fluffs balls into rolling dances. Their laughs echo
off a hunter green joy-ride Rover craddling four
natives.
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