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Oct 20
...the meadow and the puddle
you wouldn't come out of

wild and simple joy

invisable to eyes, now...

I wander the meadow grass

the fields where the flowers glow
in early morning

the fields you
only dream of
where your soul is alwaysΒ free...

and you come running

spectral through the mist

I walk lonely fields
guy scutellaro
Written by
guy scutellaro
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