It is just before dark,
she grasps her jump rope.
They have exactly one hour -
one hour to rhyme.
The cars are heavy,
resting like cattle.
Her sneakers squeal
as she skips out the door.
Careful to look both ways:
once to the left,
once to the right.
Gracefully leaping
across the street.
Giggling they gather
in a circular system;
dancing with the rope,
for exactly one hour -
one hour of rhyme.
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