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The Sugar From Fruit, II.

Summer sun made the day

Come in fat with an apple in its mouth

And tumble over heat for hours you and I

Got the spoils of a supple bounty.

You are mine.

Maybe, I am yours.

I do not want for us to flounder around or fizzle—

Roll a wet apple down your valley,

And I will catch it in my mouth O you

Were the best of my days.

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