despite the hot sun,
there always will be tiny feet
pitter-pattering on the street
their owners absorbed in fun
climbing trees
poking hives
surprised that we're still alive
after attacks by bees
buying everything the ice cream shop sells
our scoops drip onto the pavement
we grunt like early cavemen
but cry when our ice cream melts
everywhere we run
no more energy left to keep
overwhelmed by sleep
we curl up in our beds when the playing is done
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