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BARREN MEADOW
I return to the meadow of my life to recall
But the land is barren and the past is buried
Most of my friends have returned to the soil.
The seconds tick past and they seem hurried.
This sward held all that was dear to me
Full of flowers to have and to hold.
Even weeds full of loathing and enmity
Desiring my soul to hatred be sold.
In this field there grew a rose
My dream, my childhood rapture
Who my heartstrings froze,
In ecstasy my heart to capture.
In this barren meadow of my past
The weeds, my enemies, have died
But the flowers I loved will last,
Forever; to my memory they're tied.
Reason for writing:
I wanted to see if it was any good. I am 83 years old.
Birth sign: Not entered
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