Asleep I heard a voice inside
My grandson pleads to know
The days of summer back in June
When his father made his stone
The man was ill and lurid
I clung him in dry tears
The desert heat was heavy
So I hold his hand and steered
How I wish I reached the end
Yet the ergs were far too long
To stand in dēsertum was foolish
But my legs did not moved on
Surrounded by wild daturas
I laid the poor man there
In pain he surely screamed
His fate had been declared
Daturas, his mouth consumed
I pledge guilty, it’s the truth
One last smile his face withdrew
Of the oasis his eyes had viewed
Flowers’ trumpets his heart subdued
A day of plain nostalgic
No man wishes to see
Abandon by hope and safety
Yet I still remained gutsy
Mid-morning had its last visit
I held him all the way through
Slowly his heart was beating
Like daturas, his eyes had closed too
So how were my summer days?
It’s a story I need to chew
But I bound to keep a promise
To always take care of you
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