Friday, May 25, 2018

Of The What Used To Be

I may never walk on the old fields again
Or see Clara half cloaked in the gray fogs of rain
And in Spring see tadpoles wriggling in the waterlogged drain
Only memories of what was with me now remain
The scream of a barn owl in the still air of night
That has rats and mice scurrying for cover in fright
Where i grew to love Nature from here far away
And of her i remain a student today
Her wonders are many and her secrets not few
And everyday of Nature we learn something new
Yet the more i learn of her the more i realize
That of her i know little this not a surprise
I left the old fields some of the bigger World for to see
And all i have left are the memories of the what used to be.

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