as i place my hand in yours
and we manipulate
the dance floor
at the museum
the people stop
to examine the
little ballerina in pink
as you whirl me around
and we trip on the
fossil of love
rolling head long
up the steeps– at the alps,
at castle Carra
someone is visiting
a dead child
musing what could
have been
hiding in the bushes
did it think i was food

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Patricia May Neiderer
almost 7 years

if only we learnt to fly instead of walk,
i would be everywhere...
thank you

Cory Garcia
almost 7 years

Your words are as beautiful as the Ireland I remember...

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Cory Garcia
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