It's in the grass that blows
the cold fingers of winter grab my heart and throw my dreams
They tumble like the weeds that will remind us of parched lands
We are the soil barren
We are the wandering weed
We are the search of something wild
within
this test of travel
a new stretch
called Home
Prairie
Wild
Lynn....Awesome & poignant write
ReplyDeleteThank you for reading and taking the time to let me know! So appreciated!
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