I long for purple mountains
flooded over by the mist,
morning dew lingering
upon the fading tracks of
moose and antelope
on the open marshland-
I ache to just sit there
within the warmth of that lodge
and read, glancing up every now and then
to take it in-
We don't see that sort of thing much here-
I ache for springtime
when mornings are almost cheerful
everything is new again,
wipe the slate clean once more-
It is in those few precious moments
when I can feel everything at once,
when there is promise in
that crisp air-
All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Rebecca Harris.
Published on e-Stories.org on 03/02/2011.
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