cotton clouds wandering up—few to none—
bird whistles harmonize, one by one.
the salty summer sky, their home and field,
with no grudges to hold or yield.
the sun stains with a golden touch,
painting glimmering art to marvel at much.
soars softly the morning breeze in the air,
tickling skin and all that is bare.
children carefree and spinning,
mango juice fleetingly dripping.
the waves, in their natural, deep blue—
to their lover, always true.