deepundergroundpoetry.com

With

Gone are the ribbons of gold,

the water wheels with some dancing fish flying south,

the times of summer love kissing women as if touching slow moving clouds,

gone so as to let new grasses bud

encouraging deep smells of lavender  with

garlics placed by the fresh flowing streams,

the rivers,

flowing through loves shimmering salty sunlights
Written by graham_brodie
Published
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