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Returning
Past the trees,
hurry,
and into the greying wood.
Calls to me
in low low tones
Along the path
the air is warm, misty.
I hear it
like a drum
like a heart
beating in the night.
Sings to me
I need its blessing.
The shadows grow
with the passing of the sun.
Empty and full
I watch the years erased
memory a lurching pain
and still I smile
fondly
for today is dressed in white and blue.
