We're a shelter here from the blooming spittacles,
tender in the wintry skyline,
melting like a rooting at the corners.
Yes there's room.
Yes there's plenty of hoping.
Like pinwheels! See the tents a pitching,
the loons a weaving, kittens grimacing.
We'll melt those suckers yet, redistricting the sky.
With our kites!
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