LANDAYS FOR AUGUST

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The morning sings,
with the smell of leaf blowers,
and mowers hum near,
I wrestle with the sheets,
dreams cling like shadows still.

The morning hums,
with the music of machines,
cappuccino brews,
I fight through heavy eyelids
dreams fade with each sip.

The city calls,
with the soundtrack of traffic,
weather reports, sirens,
I step into the chaos,
ready to face the day.

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