The rains have come, at long last … the only beings which may stop time for me since the tree herder departed these matron-less woods … their cleansing tie dyes the mourning frost awakening the clover and naked ladies to blossom once more … I whisper only cherry seedlings.

The droplets must make a due as tears upon my apples cheeks … for the Lord of Fulgurites turned me to a dimpled sand dame moons ago … said sorrows loosing their path in the depths of “I love you, not” petal’s rotten refuse … still I ache for tenderness of his incapability.

So, let the mosses drink and feed well the ground ivy … fill the wanting pond, wash dust from emerging Summer’s hope … soak shall my seeking belly brood … the land will well recall my fair face and limbs of lacy longing … reborn I shall become in such sweetest glomming.

© 2020 CDD All Rights Reserved

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