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Mar 2018
I took a walk down a sloping path
Trees and brambles, nature’s bloodbath

My hands, a guide
My eyes, a map
My mouth, drooling and drawn to that amber sap

The ground below finally led me there
A trusted fort, a quiet town square
A lonely whistle serenading the unsoiled air

A symmetrical tree sat waiting like a snare
For me to take its’ paragon
But, oh, do I even dare?
Reflecting on times spent as a child adventuring through my nana’s backyard.
Meg Howell
Written by
Meg Howell  Georgia
(Georgia)   
511
 
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