There, in the pasture greenery,
Sun mottling Nature's breast,
It was the summer wind's song
That filled me with its crest.
Emotion running rampant--
Rivers to the sea--
I could not even fathom the flood of you and me.
\But take me in your arms again
And do not talk of time.
Let flesh rub flesh to parchment--
Pale flowers crushed--
And grind more mortar for my soul's room . . .
Paint mirrors for my mind.
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