Time of the Cherries
Parasols of many fair colors,
Drift upon the air
As I dive from one of many isles,
As one of a pair.
Sailing to the clear weathered meadows,
From far above we fell,
To the sound of piano musings,
And a singing church bell.
Yes, the Time of the Cherries,
Ripened in the afternoon,
Until the evening passes,
Where now, is the tardy moon?
Hidden behind gray-scale clouds,
Shrouded by the darkness he once ignored,
He slept as he never had,
Though he had never really tried before.
But soon, when the morning arrives,
As it has for many years,
We will sail with the parasols,
Until the moon reappears.
Yes, the Time of the Cherries,
Ripened this sunny afternoon.
Until the evening passes,
We gaze at Awakening Moon.
Drift upon the air
As I dive from one of many isles,
As one of a pair.
Sailing to the clear weathered meadows,
From far above we fell,
To the sound of piano musings,
And a singing church bell.
Yes, the Time of the Cherries,
Ripened in the afternoon,
Until the evening passes,
Where now, is the tardy moon?
Hidden behind gray-scale clouds,
Shrouded by the darkness he once ignored,
He slept as he never had,
Though he had never really tried before.
But soon, when the morning arrives,
As it has for many years,
We will sail with the parasols,
Until the moon reappears.
Yes, the Time of the Cherries,
Ripened this sunny afternoon.
Until the evening passes,
We gaze at Awakening Moon.
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