~Times are,
when the morn light scatters
across the dew-dropp'd meadows
       like a feathers caress
across the fields of My mind
Soft whispers,
calling Me to a sleep on the other Side
The Thunders of My silences
are not quite so hard to hear  
thee is with Me
and none can still the murmur deep within
Shall I look askance at what
you have given me
Will the trees bend down
and kiss My cheeks
as thee
       when your lips slide across My being
Run rampant
and I will be yours

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