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Summers Frost.

I remember the bright melodies of it’s chimes

as kids hollered “Hey, mom got some nickels or dimes!”

while that white knight on wheels, decal plastered, drove slowly

bringing sweet icy treats thirsty children found holy.

In lopsided runs with coins clenched in their hands

they came gazing at pictures and yelled thier demands,

“Gimmee popsicles or an orange pushup!” they’d scream,

as their cash went Clink-Clank in his coin-change machine.

Then he’d turn to that door with the big metal latch,

icy mists from it poured as he opened the hatch,

Each child’s eyes grew much sharper then a prowling young fox is,

as he reached deep inside and he rustled those boxes.

Soon he’d pull out a brightly wraped treat-on-a-stick

that was grabbed and was gone like the kid, oh, so quick,

to the shade of a tree where they’d soon meditate,

on the sugary taste of that ice cream they’d ate.

Then that white knight into Summer’s heat lumbered on

leaving pleasurable chills in the places it’d gone.

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