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Oct 2013
Cracks the water child
to run through heather, bracken wild and down the track ways to the chiming of the sea.
The tears of summer day , a lost one somewhere down the way of all the Autumns I have seen,
water wears it all way as if it never was a day, but I remember it that way ,as if the smack of water and its lips would leap before my eyes and spray me till I, the droplet on my sunken treasure of a cheek would sneak a smile,
from this point of unsung singing brook it took a while to shuffle down the catapult of greens and browns that swam like trout, but in the getting out of midstream, where I dreamt this was a great dream,
I meet,
The splitting of the rush strewn banks where swans are graceful. I again give thanks for what was such a summer day,
now gone.
Autumn will not last so long that winter will not knock and I,
the rock
which water has worn down,
erode and melt away.
John Edward Smallshaw
Written by
John Edward Smallshaw  67/Here and now
(67/Here and now)   
  568
   --- and Allen Wilbert
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