Lost among the meadow flowers,
love whispers.
Harvested
by spirit hand
to drift on sorrow's breeze,
he moves,
through cornflowers
and poppies,
in search of
true love strayed.
She stands,
where love lies quiet
and through
a veil of tears,
in meadow close
where soft air stirs,
she notes a gentle sway
of cornflowers
and poppies.
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