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Greg King May 12
The last cow is leaving, the herd is moving on
The pastures and meadows will not remain for long.
The last cow is leaving and sighs and lumbers on.

The last cow is leaving where my children used to play
Amongst the scents of summer on a hot sunny day.
The field mice and the rabbits all will have to move away.

The last cow is leaving, for man will live here soon
And bricks and concrete will replace the land I gaze upon.
No call of owl or crow we'll hear, there'll be a different tune.

The last cow is leaving and the farmer shuts the gate
The deed is done the plans been made, this place must meet its fate
And as the sun is sinking I fear it's getting late.
I wanted to mark the loss of some local fields for housing.
They will be gone for ever.
Erian Rose May 4
She was
footprints traced in sandy waters
sunflower fields
bloomed in thorns
thunderstorms swept
in salty air
Her spirit twinkled
of northern lights
flirting with a million acres
of honeydew blossoms
She was
the magic
that he adored
KJF Apr 23
Fallow;
ice scarred and sun scorched,
untilled and untillable,
thrush, worn, and wasted

Bones of the land,
grow inward from the shore

White coral sand blossoms
and burns at the edges;
dry, blasted

our broken lands
From a short collection I'm working on.
Smiling softly at you,
Because you make me happy,
Laughing with you in the limber afternoon,
My deep dimples,
Enough to make you tumble and tumble again,
You grab my hand, grazing my ring,
And lead me through the flowers,
Our touch as meshed as cotton in my hair,
You’re whistling through the weeds,
A thousand thorns,
Spill off my shoulder,
Scoop the ground,
We walk and dandelions surround us
Naturally
Eva B Apr 12
On the side of the path where overhead
treetops meet to tickle
each other, the roots
from two trees are knotted
together.

Meet me by that knot.
Kiss me like you said
you would.
trf Mar 18
your violet candle vents
vanilla lilac scents
reminiscent of nights
spent beset by blankets
of silent flower fields
and blinks of fire flies
lighting our landscape love
The porcelain
wind of the
moon lifts
it’s wings
of mine
to see
the clouds,
deserts and
dreams of
reality as
one, the
endless
stories of
the green
and golden
fields of
painted
starlight,
the breath
of unspoken
songs in the
conversation
of eyes, too
aerial to be
held, as the
rising, gentle
wind through
the leaves,
and the hair
of lovers in
discovery
of forests
touched
with mist,
rising above
the mountains,
falling as the
song of rain,
they are
rain dancers
who see poetry
as all, and all
is water
Feilds of Wildflowers
All blooming with her
Looming power

Full and lush with color
Not even rain clouds
Would dull her

They would only feed her flame
Which never seems
To tame

No she flickers like a star
So bright you'll
See afar

And if you follow in her direction
You'll be enveloped
In her protection

Because feilds of Wildflowers
Are lush and
Full of power
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