Seasons

The seasons have passed and ice cream
doesn't delight me in the same way.
Midnight secrets exchanged
by the breeze, the house and the great oak
can't rouse me from my dreams.
My account is full, my debts cleared.
Now I am quickly out of breath
and my arms ache for days,
the price of pushing a giddy grandson
on his favorite swing
for a few brief minutes.
I am finally content
and I have never been better prepared to die.

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