The lindens are lining the promenade
how we wish we were seventeen again
their branches arching ever skyward
framing Vincent's starry manifold
swallowing every thought and sound
each caveat, each dolce far niente
now fading and then pulsing with the
rising and ebbing of rhythmic tides
how serious this business of life is;
our limbs intertwine as we scramble
shaking sand from between our toes
we sit on wicker recliners and imbibe
beverages that splash down so loudly
with the crashing of frolicking waves