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The village smells of lilac
As a soft wind carries the scent
In its hair-flicking arms.

It is summer.
Butterfly-dancing days,
Warm as a ginger, army blanket,
Covering the tree-lined lanes
In a distorted haze of heat.

The churchyard, dressed in flowers,
Plays host to religious bees
As they buzz, stop, eat and fly
In honey-voiced congregations.

How lazy the river flows
As if, it had nowhere to go,
Here, I wonder, if that floating leaf
Will ever see the sea.

The open windows of cottages,
Let this season have its way
As it wanders through halls and rooms
Like a warm, welcome ghost.

Can you feel this day in Eden?
No twirling smoke from chimneys now.
Winter lies white in old memories.

Walk with me Eve...

It is time to play.


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The following comments are for "Those After-Death Fields"
by ograd77





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