Wooden Ships

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The meadow sleeps

Unto a garden dreams

Softly spoken words

I heard the child cry

A garden of loneliness

Is one of refuge, still

This child knows &

Sees nothing more then

Weeds,distortion is the

Rain of growth,illusion

are the seeds of the child

Dreams, this garden of

Nature,yet it is the child’s

Nature who planted,so

The child shall ripe

What the child’s sow

 

 

 

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