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Meadows And Golden Rye

Tags: musing

With a whisper calling me silently
as if a breath of soul quietly,
touching my conscious being
because that's the way it remained.

In blue heaven without a name,
just forget-me-nots with a kiss,
in a garden of our Gethsemane
as the winds blew God's calliope.

Singing a song as dew drops rained
over meadows and golden rye,   
on the sweet bye and bye  
with a smile in my eye.

That's the way of the rainbow
with steps ascending the sky
to the land of apple porridge pie,
in my mind's poetic window.  

 

 

 

 

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