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before the bloom
became of dreams –
meadows without end
fraught with yellows
denim blue
and bark
before the sun
recalled in death
the sanctity of time –
was tempt to spin
hastened by the dark
who am I
can you forgive
what of me was less
a cotton robe
dirty soles
ruby reds to kiss
before the bloom
was sacrificed
perfume filled the air
pastures bathed in splendor –
with nothing to

. . .