It's billowed by hot summer air,
And rides on currents of despair,
Then floats as feather to the ground
And lands as gently, with no sound,
Pretends to soothe not suffocate,
And wants the world to ‘tolerate’.
Comes rolling in towards the finish,
Gently eager to diminish,
Keeping expectations low,
It smothers, lets no talent grow,
Softly, kindly, no harm meaning,
Sweetly, blindly still demeaning.
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