Summer Pagaent

She sang the melody

With eyes wide open

I just stood and stared

Noticing the little things

Like how her voice

Carried like a feather

In the warm breeze

Over fields of wonder

When all the bad days

Were yesterdays

And harvest time

Yielded her tenderness

By 67paintings

A dialectical site of poetry, painting and the odd musical excursion into the unknown.

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