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Woods, leading no where. Beauty in the field, destroyed by weeds. Circles and circles, round and around. I keep tracking through these woods. Feeling lost inside my soul. Where am I?
Strong as an Oak, Tall as a Pine, As beautiful as the Willow, But single spark, Or lightning's arc, Can burn up all the Meadow.
In this meadow of Indians, comes a howl from pale winds, one that whispers to the trees, who slump deformed, longing to sway in patches of thin pokes of wild flowers, with nervous dragonflies,
I wait for him in the dark.
Golden days are full of bloom But inside petals is dark of gloom. Beneath waxy leaves are hidden shadow
The lush meadow grass, A bright sunny day. Palm clasped in yours Through the fields we'll play. We can sing and talk, I'll ask you how you are.
Could I but soar unbounded As does the great Eagle Bald And reach immeasurable heights And No one has called And tease all Day with my offspring And feast as I may