Fields

Adrift again in fields of forgotten names
Memories of a gift lost inside the lines and places
Festive flames burn high light up the circus towns
Pink and purple painted red roses on eyes and faces
Simple games to try night spills out unformed clowns
They sift through sand that yields lots of tiny grains



Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 269 times
Written on 2021-11-24 at 07:30

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