The MowerWading through thescent of damp dirt andbleeding grassReturning over and overover and overover andoverStrands sticktogether and Iam petting a forestycat's coarselong fur the wrongway.It must beeven, must be even.Must be perfect, mustbe perfect.Hurry up! The sun isturning ityellow.
The Wood NymphThe sultry contemplation of his sundeflects in angles bringing frosty chill,and minty leaves within the breeze's stunemits a cry, transition looms a thrill.Emotion breaks, distilled in morning's dewand icy tears bejew'l her hands in beads.The rich aspar'gus frock has changed its huenow hair of hanging orange peel supersedes.Her rosewood lips foretaste his sweet caressin dreams she dreams a season's love affair.Her woodsy skin concealed in wedding's dressof icy lace and snowy linen fair.Though bitter, brisk, and bleak the season lingers,the maiden treasures close her forest fingers.
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Check out this same journal for a couple new contests features that i am doing as well. Have a great day & keep up the great work. Cant wait to see more!