Fern-laden trails
wind around up
under the chestnuts
next to babbling brooks,
to a special place
laced with magic,
the lookout where
ten million eyes have seen
the blue settle over the ridges,
& I hear the ghosts of canines
in my sweet memories crying,
barking into the gentle breezes
that once kissed our faces,
while your tongues lapped
the cool country air
& chased horse flies.