Monday, March 04, 2013

Expectant circles

How do I tell of that time
When expectations weren't prime?
We tumbled into the hay (that)
They were making in the sunshine

Sweet rolling fun, undeterred
Looking,  yet not accepting,
That a future may lie ahead,
Ahead of this free-rolling mess.

Hay is now thresh,
Gripping and forgotten,
Rustling quietly beneath
Traveling,  growing feet.

Out with old,  in with new,
A fresh brew flows through,
Flooding halls and doorways,
Reuniting thresh with hay.

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