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Apr 2021
I have a memory as a child,
of propeller planes droning lazily in clear blue skies.
In the field, lying down squinting up,
blocking bright sunlight with one hand to see the planes up high.
The moment seemed eternal then, and preceded responsibility.
So many seconds have ticked by since,
I can’t be sure if the memory is truly mine,
or is captured from a book, or film or song.
But as I hear that drone again today, the sun warms my bones regardless.
The past is a foreign country...
Written by
Andy Hewitt  49/M/Manchester, England
(49/M/Manchester, England)   
   Bogdan Dragos
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