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Lord my love don’t you know…?
We’re going to be soaked in seed
Divorced of low crawling weed
We’re going to be clematis climbers
Entwining all we lambast—fast
We’re going to be flower chamfers
Burning on the breeze, too the last.
We’re going to be burning dreams
Falling into fairy ring themes
We’re going to be petals in pools
Dancing around daisy star lit moons
We’re going to be crisp winter days
Before; another sleeps purple haze.
We’re going to be goblets in a stream
Where all the salmon daydream
We’re going to be a millipede rainbow
Under the bridal veil of happy tears
We’re going to be red carpet premiers
Leaving; crystal footprints where we go.
Lord my love don’t you know…?
Lord my love don’t you know…?
Lord my love don’t you know…?
poem
by
Mark Heathcote
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