The World to Rights

I found a fondness for it, in late August:
Plans for revolution in the beer garden.
We were gold-touched by cider, in the plot,
And by that fruit-kissed dizziness, planned nuisance,
Outrage, devilry, and victory.
You at the helm, me on the quarterdeck,
Braced upon the brink of something great.
We did by diverse thoughts that night conspire
To recklessness, so warmed in temperament.
And so we were for a while one half-a-thought,
One idle thought, from dreaming paradise.

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