Saturday, October 9, 2010

summer memories/realities

from children running through sweet pea fields
getting caught on hidden blackberry bushes
the thorns gouging deep
and tangling on summer skin
too busy to stop and tend the wounds,
the blood leaving a trail
in case we want to go back
but even if we do,
we won't go back the same way
you can never go back the same way,
we aren't those children,
the field will be gone,
and we'll come back slower.

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