Back, in my fifties, fatter that I was then,
I step on the sand, belch down slight horror to walk
a wincing pit edge, waiting for the pistol shot
laughter. Long greening waves cash themselves, foam change
...
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Yew bruz π½π½πΎπΎπΈπΈπΉπΉπΎπΎπΎπ½πΌ