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Aug 9

Spring had blossomed
into being

infecting him
like a virus.

He could feel the season
run wild in his blood

making him
want to run

to all the fields of the farm
and all the fields of the farm

welcomed him knew him
as a growing thing

this the youngest
of his days.

He ran for only
the beauty of the running

the joy of being

to be the boy he was
in this moment.

The freedom of not
needing to name or own

in order to understand
the existence of this now.

And when he returned
from all the directions

that the wind had to

a boy of cuts and scratches
a smile stained with blackberries

burrs cling to him
for dear life

shirt torn
honeysuckle strewn

he was no longer
the boy who

had run off into
the beginning of spring

but had become
through his joy

all the fields
of the farm.
Donall Dempsey
Written by
Donall Dempsey  Guildford
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