deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Meadow
In dreams we bloom
like snowdrops in the sun
carpets of white, amongst
the whistling of the winds.
But no Autumn comes
no branches laid bare
only leaves singing,
green and rich,
and teeming with warmth.
Upon hills we loom,
where valleys call
to us. Booming, louder
than ever before.
Here within the heather
the voice of the next,
beckoning us to leave
those phantoms behind,
transcend these bonds.
I can still smell you,
intoxicating perfume.
Awash with the beauty of
these sights.
Mixed with the lilac scent-
your hand feels soft in mine.
And as our spirits entwine
I know only one thing,
I will never let you go.
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