poetry & things

In flowering hills

Never wait for me when far in fields, I’ve gone

mad and wild flowered, abandoned every plan

my mind ebbed and fallen, no never do call on me

if when I’m very drunk in halcyon hills of day,

or in lucid colors of a pastiche floral parade

never when lost in splendorous meadows

when a bird of peace, in hills I fly

amid some heavenly place

where I can only but

dream to die

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